


Nevermore

by kinole009x



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angry Roger Taylor (Queen), Angst with a Happy Ending, Dark Magic, Epic Love, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fairy Tale Curses, Fairy Tale Elements, Fantasy, Friendship/Love, Heroine's Journey, M/M, Queen (Band) Lyrics, Quests, Sad John Deacon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:07:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 152,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23495794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinole009x/pseuds/kinole009x
Summary: In the land of Nevermore, the vengeful god Trident curses John Deacon with uncontrollable powers, transforming him into the feared, hated, and exiled Black Queen.  The curse can only be broken by the love and trust of the White Queen, a young village schoolteacher named Ronnie.But despite the good intentions of Freddie, Brian, and Roger, Ronnie is finding it impossible to trust John, thanks to his fearful appearance, dangerous magic, and one irreversible accident that changes her life forever...
Relationships: Anita Dobson/Brian May, Jim Hutton/Freddie Mercury, John Deacon/Veronica Tetzlaff, Sarina Potgieter/Roger Taylor
Comments: 286
Kudos: 149





	1. Chapter 1

The sun was a dazzling orange ball of fire sliding down a blood red sky on the evening that Ronnie first saw _him._  
  
Sitting comfortably cross-legged on an ancient tree stump, she held an open book in her hands and read out loud to a small group of schoolchildren who were sprawled out before her on leaves of red and gold.  
  
"Crying aloud, the king beheld her charms..."  
  
Ronnie frowned as she squinted at the page and slowly continued to read.  
  
"...and felt his blood course hotly through his veins. He lifted her in his arms, and carried her to a bed..."

Placing the book on her knee, Ronnie flipped a couple of pages ahead and scanned the text with disbelieving eyes, before resolutely shutting the book with a quiet snap.

The children looked up at her expectantly.  
  
"And they took the best nap of their lives and lived happily ever after," Ronnie finished, as her skin crawled. While running her fingers over the smooth gold lettering on the leather cover, she reminded herself to never read to the children from _Grimms' Fairy Tales_ ever again.  
  
Who knew the tale of Sleeping Beauty could be so...raunchy?  
  
The children let out various sighs of contentment and glancing up from the book, Ronnie couldn't help but smile fondly as she observed drooping eyelids and tiny lashes resting on rosy cheeks.  
  
Except for one small boy in the back, who sat up straight as a rod and exclaimed, "One more story, _please_ Missus T!"  
  
Ronnie laughed lightly. "Now Jimmy..."  
  
The other children instantly caught Jimmy's enthusiasm and joined in with a resounding chorus of "Pretty please Missus T!"  
  
"It's getting late," Ronnie protested gently. "And I have to leave very early tomorrow morning."  
  
A tiny girl with braided pigtails sighed. "But do you have to go Missus T?"  
  
"You know I do, Jenny," Ronnie said as she patted the girl's head. "And each of you will have to take a similar journey when you reach my age."  
  
Though she didn't tell the children that she was actually embarking on her coming of age journey three years later than she should be.  
  
"Which is why you should tell us one more story," a boy named Steve said smartly.  
  
"Yes, yes!" little Clementine exclaimed. "To hold us over until we see you again, Missus T!"  
  
Ronnie glanced at the setting sun that was throwing long black shadows across the dry grass. "Oh, all right then. But just a quick story."  
  
"Tell us about the Black Queen!" Jimmy piped up from the back.  
  
"The Black Queen is not real," Ronnie reminded him for the seventh time that week.  
  
"But neither was Sleeping Beauty!" Clementine pointed out.  
  
Ronnie opened her mouth before closing it in defeat. "I suppose you're right," she said reluctantly. And besides, she couldn't resist a good fable.  
  
"What do _you_ know about the Black Queen?" she asked her class curiously.  
  
Quietude fell over the small group. Steve looked carefully over his shoulder at the woods, before reciting in a hushed voice,  
  
"Walking true to style  
She's vulgar abuse and vile  
Fi fo The Black Queen tattoos all her pies  
She boils and she bakes..."  
  
"...and she never dots her I's," Ronnie finished quietly with him.  
  
The autumn wind whistled through the trees and the children unconsciously crept closer together and stared up at her with wide eyes as they waited for her to begin her tale.  
  
"The legend says that The Black Queen emerged two years ago at the Ogre Battle," Ronnie began in a very soft voice, as if she feared that the Black Queen herself was listening. "It was at that very battle that warriors reported the first known sightings of her."  
  
"You should tell us what she looks like," little Jimmy whispered, "so that if we ever meet her in the forest, we'll know it's her."  
  
Ronnie gave him a reassuring smile. "You won't ever meet her because she's only a myth. But it's said that's she's very tall, with long black hair and pale white skin. Atop her head sits a crown of thorns. Her fingernails are black as night and there's a tattoo of a lion etched into the back of her right hand. But what most unnerved the warriors was her eyes, which were simply white."  
  
All the children gasped.  
  
As the sun continued to drop lower in the sky, Ronnie's voice dropped to a whisper. "They say the Black Queen possess a powerful, dark magic. In the east, where the Ogre Battle took place, she used her powers to dry up the seas. It hasn't rained there since the day of the battle and as a result, crops won't grow."  
  
"Are we in the east, Missus T?" Jenny asked fearfully.  
  
"No, Jenny," Ronnie confirmed. "We're in the northwest. We're quite safe here."  
  
"Did the Black Queen bring the Great Sickness?" Steve asked suspiciously.  
  
"No, Steve," Ronnie assured him. "The Great Sickness happened of it's own accord."  
  
"My older brother says the Black Queen eats virgins for breakfast," Jimmy whispered.  
  
The corner of Ronnie's mouth quivered as she tried not to smile. "There's no evidence of that!"  
  
A flash of black moving through the trees caught Ronnie's attention and she slowly rose to her feet as she pressed the book of fairy tales to her chest. An involuntary shiver crept down her spine as she stared into the woods and thought to herself that perhaps it hadn't been wise to bring the children here, especially when the days were so much shorter.   
  
"Do you see her, Missus T?" Clementine's eyes widened as Jimmy fearfully threw his tiny arms around Steve.  
  
Ronnie shook her head to clear her mind. "No, no, it was likely just a wild animal. Come now, children, that concludes this afternoon's class!"  
  
Groans of protest gradually turned into yawns as Ronnie led the children away from the woods.  
  
As they walked down the leave-littered hill, Jenny grasped Ronnie's thumb and asked, "Why does the Black Queen only eat virgins for breakfast? Why not lunch?"  
  
Ronnie internally sighed. Though she had repeatedly told the children that the Black Queen did not exist, it appeared that they believed in her anyway, so Ronnie decided it would be easier to play along.  
  
"She doesn't eat virgins at all," she said kindly to Jenny. "In fact, I'm sure she eats toast for breakfast."  
  
Jenny gasped. "Does she put cheese on it, like my mum does for me?"  
  
Ronnie smiled. "I'm sure she does."  
  
And, knowing she was being unreasonable, Ronnie threw one last glance over her shoulder, but the woods were calm.  
  
Yes, that had been the first time Ronnie had seen _him_ , but she hadn't known it was him at the time.  
  
\---  
After shepherding the children back to the village and receiving the most heartwarming of group hugs, she watched them each disappear into the safety of their homes and sighed, because she was truly going to miss them.  
  
An uncomfortable sensation of being watched drew Ronnie's thoughts away from the homesickness that was already churning in her belly and slowly, she turned around with the intent of scanning the forest yet again.  
  
A figure in a black hooded cloak stood behind her.  
  
With a small gasp, Ronnie stepped backwards, unable to tear her eyes away or form a coherent sentence. It wasn't until the figure lunged at her with a roar that she was even able to get her feet to move.  
  
Ronnie cried out in alarm and turned to run, but the figure caught her arm, twirled her around, and clamped a hand over her mouth.  
  
"Got you," a voice whispered in her ear.  
  
As the voice permeated her eardrum, recognition surged through Ronnie's senses and she jabbed her elbow into the figure's ribs and pushed him away. Turning, she stared into the twinkling eyes of her fiance, Valentino.  
  
"What was that for!" she exclaimed as she pressed a hand against her heart, which was beating out of control.  
  
"What!" Valentino said innocently. "I was only preparing you for your journey!"  
  
"Oh?" Ronnie demanded. "How so?"  
  
"I was pretending to be the Black Queen," Valentino replied. "And I must say, if that's how you'd react to a meeting with her, you are not prepared to go off into the forest on your own."  
  
"She's not _real,_ Valentino!"  
  
"She's as real as you and I," Valentino countered. "And for your sake as well as mine, I hope you don't encounter her on your journey."  
  
Ronnie glared at him.  
  
"Come now," Valentino said, softening his voice and loosely circling his arms around her. "I didn't mean any harm. I just wanted to have a bit of fun before you leave."  
  
"I don't want to go," Ronnie said into his shoulder, her voice muffled.  
  
"Well, you have to," Valentino said bluntly. "If you wait any longer, the village will label you as an old spinster."  
  
Trying not to feel hurt, Ronnie pulled away. "Well, I'm sorry I didn't complete my coming of age journey as quickly as you completed yours."  
  
Valentino flexed his arm mightily. "Yes, by fighting in the great Ogre Battle!"  
  
Ronnie rolled her eyes. "Yes, and I get to journey to a far off forest and pick a flower. Lucky me."  
  
Valentino grinned and placing a hand on Ronnie's shoulder, propelled her forward, towards the home she shared with her parents.  
  
"In all seriousness," he said as they walked past rows of perfectly identical cottages, "the Black Queen _is_ real. Don't forget that I was there that day at the battle. I saw her."  
  
"I don't doubt you saw someone," Ronnie said as they stopped outside her door. "But something makes me feel like they weren't who you thought they were."  
  
Valentino raised an eyebrow and folded his arms.  
  
Ronnie sighed. "What I'm trying to say is that I'm having trouble believing that there is someone out there who is _that_ powerful and at the same time, _that_ evil."  
  
"But if she existed, you'd fear her," Valentino said simply. It wasn't even a question; it was a confident statement.  
  
Ronnie thought about the flash of black she had seen in the woods. "Yes."  
  
"And there you have it," Valentino said, before leaning forward to give her an informal peck on the cheek. "Good luck. I'll see you when you return."  
  
As Ronnie watched him walk away, she twisted her engagement band round and round on her left ring finger and tried not to feel disappointed. They didn't know how long it would take for her to successfully complete her journey and all she had received from him was a hurried kiss and a near heart attack.  
  
Valentino turned around and winked at her. "Watch out for the blue powder monkeys, my bride."  
  
The corner of Ronnie's mouth lifted in a small smile but that smile didn't reach her eyes, nor did it spread warmth through her heart. If coming of age had taught her anything, it was that life wasn't an actual fairytale. In fact, life was more like the _Grimms' Fairy Tales_.  
  
And that was extraordinary difficult for Ronnie to accept because she had grown up believing in a special kind of love, raised on fairytales and practically christened within the pages of love stories. But she had never found evidence that that kind of love existed, especially not in Valentino's words or gestures, and in order to console herself, she had been trying to convince herself that kind of love wasn't real.  
  
Just like the Black Queen.  
  
\---  
  
"This is so easy," Ronnie whispered to herself as she walked through the forest and relished the sound of dry leaves crunching beneath her feet. "I can do this."  
  
Morning sunlight streamed through the interwoven branches of the trees, touching everything it could reach with light, and Ronnie found she wasn't afraid. She had a map to guide her, a list of important Tasks to challenge her, and a plan to be settled at an inn before night fell.  
  
It was imperative that she never find herself alone in the forest at night, her mother had warned her before she had left the village. Ronnie carried this warning closely as the day wore on and dusk eventually infiltrated the trees to alert her that it was almost time to find shelter.  
  
A rumble from underfoot made Ronnie stop in her tracks. Tucking a strand of strawberry-tinged hair behind her ear, she listening carefully but found she could only hear the rustling of the trees and the gentle song of crickets.  
  
That is, until the rumble stirred the leaves around her and she realized that the ferocious growl of an animal was causing the unrest beneath her feet.  
  
Turning, Ronnie saw a black tiger in the distance, it's color a stark contrast against the yellowing leaves and the white bark of the trees.  
  
Orange eyes studied her carefully as one giant paw stepped forward.  
  
Ronnie began to back away, trying to remain rational, but ever since the night before when Valentino had frightened her, the Black Queen had haunted her thoughts and visited her in her dreams. For all she knew, this black tiger could be _her_ in another form.  
  
It was that thought that made Ronnie turn and run.  
  
She prayed desperately that the black tiger would be disinterested, but she heard the sound of heavy paws thundering on the ground behind her as she swerved off the beaten path and ran into a part of the forest that was much darker. Gradually, the dry leaves became wet and fearing there was a hidden source of water nearby, Ronnie tried to pay attention to where she was going, lest she tumble into a swamp.  
  
Radiant orange light up ahead signaled the end of the dark woods and breathless from exertion and terror, Ronnie burst forth from the trees and ran up a grassy knoll to a gnarled old oak tree. Without even realizing what she was doing, she flung herself upwards, grasped a thick branch, and hoisted herself into the tree.  
  
And right in time, because the black tiger had been directly on her heels and was now standing on it's hind legs below her as it planted giant paws against the tree and blinked up at her.  
  
As Ronnie clung to her branch, breathing heavily and pressing a hand against the ache in her side, a sharp whistle echoed through the air and the black tiger immediately sat back on its haunches and...  
  
...purred. Thoroughly confused, Ronnie frowned at the overgrown cat.  
  
Moments later, a man strolled out of the forest and up the small hill of grass.  
  
"Oscar!" he exclaimed sternly in an accent that Ronnie had never heard before. "Oscar, what was that for!"  
  
The black tiger rolled onto his back with his giant paws in the air and blinked up at the man innocently.  
  
Ronnie studied the man carefully as he approached her tree. He was clad only in black trousers and knee-high black boots and she blushed as she observed his bare chest, covered in hair that was exactly the color of Oscar. But his eyes were kind and beneath his dark mustache, he smiled apologetically.  
  
"Please accept my most sincere apologies, miss," he said. "Oscar meant no harm; I assure you his only intention was to catch a new friend. _Not_ dinner."  
  
Ronnie sighed in relief as the man rubbed Oscar's belly briskly and said fondly, "He's just a baby! Aren't you just a baby, Oscar?"  
  
Straightening, the man extended his left pinky up to Ronnie. "The name's Hutton."  
  
Ronnie touched his pinky lightly with her own, the new way of greeting since the Great Sickness began to sweep through the land, and introduced herself. "My name's Ronnie."  
  
"Are you lost, Ronnie?" Hutton asked politely. "Could I be of assistance? It's the least I can do, after the scare Oscar just gave you."  
  
Ronnie looked at the forest behind him. If she remembered correctly, a straightforward path had led from her original location to here, and it shouldn't be too difficult to return to it.  
  
"No, thank you," Ronnie said sincerely. "I know the way."  
  
"I'll leave you to it, then," Hutton said with a nod. "Farewell, Ronnie. Come now, Oscar!"  
  
Ronnie raised her hand in farewell and watched as Hutton and Oscar disappeared into the trees. When they had faded from view, she pulled her list of Tasks from her bag and stared at number one.  
  
_1\. Climb a tree, for only by knowing your own strength will you be equipped to carry your own child, within the womb and without._  
  
As she tucked the list away and slid out of the tree, Ronnie mentally congratulated herself on accomplishing the first Task of her coming of age journey, though it unnerved her how it had all played out. She pushed that feeling away and instead clung to a new found confidence that had begun to spread throughout her chest...  
  
...and which promptly vanished once she had been journeying through the forest for some time and came to a fork in the road.  
  
Running her hands through her long curls, Ronnie sighed in frustration and realized that when she had been running from Oscar, she had come out of one of these paths, but she wasn't sure which one it had been.  
  
But the moon that was rising in the sky told her that she couldn't linger, so she chose the fork that went to the left, because the leaves there were dry and the portion of the forest she had originally come from had been scattered with dry leaves. With a brave inhalation, Ronnie set off down her chosen path.  
  
Eventually complete darkness fell upon the forest and Ronnie squinted as she tried to make out the path while dodging shadows and imaginary terrors. Pulling her white cloak tightly around her, she finally succumbed to her concern when she stepped out of the forest and onto a beach.  
  
Ronnie thrust her hand into her bag and pulled out her map. There wasn't any mention of a beach and most importantly, this was the first beach she had encountered, proving that _this was not the way she had come._  
  
The sound of a twig snapping in half echoed through the forest and Ronnie threw a fearful look over her shoulder. Small pairs of eyes blinked back at her and deciding that it was not safe to go back through the forest until there was natural daylight, she hesitantly began to walk through the sand as she observed restless waves to her left, and a steep, black cliff to her right.  
  
Quite without warning, a voice wrapped itself around her.  
  
_Tuesday_  
_I saw her down on the beach_  
  
Ronnie whipped around but there was no one there. Yet she still felt like she wasn't alone, like she was being watched.  
  
Very slowly, she allowed her gaze to travel up the cliff and at the top, she saw a dark figure.  
  
The whisper gently caressed her ear.

 _I stood and watched awhile_  
_And she looked and smiled at me_  
  
Ronnie felt the left side of her mouth begin to curl upward, before she firmly regained control over her mind and her actions and fixed her expression in a resolute frown.  
  
The figure disappeared.  
  
Moonlight reverberated off the waves and flooded the beach, giving Ronnie enough light to anxiously observe her surroundings. Indecision rooted her to the spot as she tried to decide what to do; it was not safe to spend the night in the forest but the beach didn't appear to be any better, with the way the waves were slowly inching their way up towards the cliff. Ronnie was sure that by morning, the beach would be under the tide.  
  
Ronnie crouched down with the intention of drawing herself a map in the sand to determine exactly where she had gone wrong and that's when she noticed there were already lines in the sand. Rising to her feet, she slowly turned in a circle and saw she was standing in the shape of a heart.  
  
The voice returned, flowing into her right ear and out through the left.  
  
_All your letters in the sand cannot heal me like your hand..._  
  
Ronnie leapt out of the heart, not able to understand why this provoked so much fear within her, and realized she had no choice. She couldn't go back the way she came, at least not tonight, and she couldn't venture ahead because there was only endless sand and water. Rolling up her map and shoving it into her pocket, she grabbed the sharp, black rock, hoisted herself up onto the first foothold of cliff, and began to climb upwards.  
  
She grew tired quickly and three quarters of the way up, she grasped the tough bedrock and warned herself not to look down. A gust of wind blew down the beach and with invisible fingers, it plucked the map from her pocket.   
  
"No," Ronnie whispered as she helplessly watched the wind carry her map the rest of the way up and over the cliff. "No!"  
  
And, knowing she had to catch it or she'd be hopelessly lost, she reached for the next crag of rock. But it was terribly unstable and as soon as Ronnie grasped it, the rock crumbled away and she was left hanging dangerously by one hand.  
  
Just as she was fearing she'd fall into the waves below, a hand reached out to her from over the threshold of the cliff.

_A hand above the water_

Ronnie desperately looked up and found herself wondering if the mysterious voice was coming from the figure she had seen earlier. Using all her strength, she forced herself to concentrate and fling her free arm upward to reach towards the hand.  
  
_An angel reaching for the sky_  
  
Grasping long fingers, Ronnie allowed herself to be pulled the rest of the way up the rocky precipice. As she knelt upon the grass, she fearfully looked over the edge and saw what a long way down it was and how deadly it would have been if it hadn't been for...  
  
...not realizing she was still clinging to her savior's hand, Ronnie looked up as she thanked them sincerely.  
  
But then an involuntary chill ran down her spine because the black hood the figure was wearing reminded her of Valentino's attempt to scare her the evening before. She banished the memory from her mind and reminded herself that the Black Queen was not real.   
  
It was at that exact moment that the sea pushed a mighty gust of wind up the cliff and it blew the figure's hood off before the figure could prevent it.  
  
Kneeling beside her and still grasping her hand was a man who was deathly pale. Long black hair framed his face and prominent black eyebrows arched frighteningly over eyes that were lined boldly with what looked like black ink.  
  
His eyes were simply white and he was wearing a crown of thorns.  
  
With a soft gasp, Ronnie stared down at their clasped hands for confirmation of what she already knew was true. Perhaps the small ring on the pinky finger and the slightly larger ring clinging to the middle finger should have comforted her because it proved, in an obscure way, that this man was human. But as the moon slowly moved overhead, she was able to make out the man's black fingernails and the faint tattoo of a lion that was inked on the back of his hand.  
  
As fear squeezed her heart, Ronnie tried to tug her hand away, with every intention of running from him, but the man held tightly to it. And though she tried not to, she found herself looking back up into his face.  
  
His mouth was turned down in a permanent frown of anguish, as if the world had wronged him too many times.  
  
The soft voice returned.  
  
_I'm lord of all darkness_  
_I'm queen of the night_  
  
Ronnie felt herself begin to tremble as she realized the Black Queen _was_ real. But she was actually a _man._  
  
And this newfound knowledge gave her the strength to wrench her hand away from his, scramble to her feet, and _run._  
  
And as she ran, Ronnie found she was furious. She was furious at her village for forcing every young woman to go on this dangerous coming of age journey. She was furious at the Black Queen for existing. She was furious at herself for getting lost. She was furious that she was now desperately running, with no place to go.  
  
Looking over her shoulder into the darkness, Ronnie saw that the Black Queen was following her, but he wasn't chasing her. He was taking long, patient strides and yet, he was catching up with her much too quickly.  
  
And his white eyes were glowing in the darkness.  
  
With a whimper of fear, Ronnie veered sharply to the left, hoping to throw him off her course. Up ahead in the distance was a stone well and she quickened her pace before slinging a leg over it and feeling for some kind of leverage. When her toes found solid ground, she climbed to the other side and crouched on a narrow ledge inside the well, careful to avoid the black hole below.  
  
Holding her breath, Ronnie moved carefully over to where there was a small crack in the stone of the well. She hadn't heard footsteps behind her and she allowed hope to flood her soul as she realized it was possible that the Black Queen hadn't noticed her change in direction.  
  
As she peered through the crack, she saw a white eye staring back at her.  
  
With a startled cry, Ronnie drew back, lost her balance, and found herself falling into the blackness of the well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally began this fic back in January as a one shot for Johnica Week, but before I knew it, it was twenty pages long with no end in sight. So I held onto it until now and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it. This is very heavily inspired by Queen's work; almost everything (including names of minor characters) is pulled from their lyrics and you'll see many familiar faces as we get further into the story.
> 
> Any and all feedback is welcomed and appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

As Ronnie fell, the voice echoed around her, slow and ghostly, and she wondered how it knew her name.

 _Ronnie..._  
  
She reached out wildly, trying to find something, _anything,_ to grab hold of, and caught a rope. Clinging to it desperately, she hung in the air and looked up.  
  
A shadow moved from above and Ronnie forced herself down the rope, trying to ignore the burning sensation as the rough material slid through her hands.  
  
She landed on her feet on wet stone and shook out her burning fingers, before quickly moving away from the entrance of the well. Sconces of dim light positioned at intervals on the stone walls showed her the way as she ran down the tunnel.  
  
Rounding a corner, the sconces of light faded into blackness, and she bumped into something quite firm.  
  
"Automolove!" A voice cried out and soft yellow light illuminated the ceiling of the tunnel and shone gently down on a figure holding a short stick in the air. Just as Ronnie realized that the light was flowing from the stick, the figure twirled it through his fingers and pointed the bright tip at her heart.  
  
Ronnie, momentarily blinded, squinted in the light. "Lower your weapon! I mean you no harm!"  
  
The voice emerged from the darkness again, this time soft and sarcastic. "I bet you say that to all the boys!"   
  
Ronnie frowned and dropping her gaze, she noticed small black lettering etched into the polished wood.  
  
 _Roger._  
  
She looked back up to see distrustful blue eyes staring back at her.  
  
Footsteps echoed through the black tunnel and, remembering that she was being pursued and wondering how she could have ever forgotten that very important fact, Ronnie pushed the figure - who was blocking her path in this very narrow underground space - ahead of her and began to run.   
  
The figure - who Ronnie decided to call Roger in her mind - let out an indignant huff as he was propelled forward. He resisted, but the adrenaline flowing through Ronnie's veins ignited her fear and gave her a surprising physical strength that she didn't realize she had.  
  
"Go," she hissed as Roger was forced to break into a run, "or he'll catch us both!"  
  
"Who?" Roger exclaimed.  
  
Ronnie felt a scream of terror well up in her throat, preventing her from saying the Black Queen's name out loud. She shook her head with a muffled whimper and Roger pointed his light ahead to show them the way and said no more.  
  
On and on they traveled in haste through the winding tunnel, and closer and closer the footsteps came. Ronnie thought to herself that the twists and turns in the tunnel were a small blessing at least, because it prevented her from seeing the Black Queen's glowing eyes, which she knew were always around the corner. Yet, she found herself wishing she could silence the sound of her own footsteps, which would, without a doubt, eventually lead the Black Queen directly to her.  
  
Roger stopped suddenly and spun around. "I'm no coward! I'll stand and fight!"  
  
He was blocking the passageway again. With a frustrated sigh, Ronnie pulled him into an alcove carved into the rounded corner of the stone wall.   
  
Roger squirmed anxiously out of her grip, preparing to lunge back into the tunnel, before Ronnie seized fistfuls of his shirt and pinned him against the wall. It was very forward of her to do so, but if Roger carried on the way he was, the Black Queen would find them for sure.  
  
"Release me!" Roger shook his head fiercely but only succeeded in poking himself in the eye with his own long blonde locks.  
  
"Please," Ronnie whispered desperately. _"Please_ shut up."  
  
"Never!" Roger brandished his stick.  
  
"Put your stick out!"   
  
Roger bristled. "It's a _drum-_ stick!" he said indignantly, still not bothering to lower his voice.  
  
"Sshh, all right, fine, just put it out!"  
  
Roger reluctantly blew across the rounded tip, extinguishing the light.  
  
They waited in complete darkness. A damp smell permeated the entire tunnel and Ronnie found herself pressing a hand over her nose, which was cold as ice.  
  
And then, out of the blackness came the sound of slow and steady footsteps, quiet at first but gradually deepening in sound as they came closer, and closer, and...  
  
As her eyes adjusted to the dim, Ronnie could just barely make out a tall figure rounding the corner, passing their hidden alcove, and continuing on down the pitch black tunnel. Holding her breath, she dug her fingers into Roger's shirt.  
  
"Ouch!" Roger hissed. "Watch your pincers!"  
  
Ronnie's heart dropped as the footsteps stopped and the figure turned very slowly. Two white eyes glowed in the darkness, like two floating orbs of light.  
  
Roger inhaled sharply. At first, Ronnie thought it was out of fear, but looking back on this moment at a later time, she'd realize that it was actually the sound of enraged recognition.   
  
Wrenching himself from Ronnie's grip, he whispered, "Automolove!" and his drumstick flooded the tunnel with light.  
  
"You didn't tell me you were running from the Black Queen," Roger said in a low, accusing voice, addressing Ronnie but never taking his eyes off of the figure with the bright white eyes.  
  
"I'm sorry that getting to safety was more of a priority than casual conversation," Ronnie muttered.  
  
Roger ignored her terse remark and said in a cold voice, "Hullo _Deaky._ Long time, no see."  
  
 _Deaky?_ Ronnie thought to herself. Did the Black Queen actually have a real name?  
  
The Black Queen balled his hands into fists and looking past Roger, fixed his stare on Ronnie, who pressed herself against the wall.  
  
 _Ronnie..._  
  
The voice had returned, wrapping itself around her like a lover.  
  
As Roger took a step forward, the Black Queen glanced at him, before looking at Ronnie one last time and as he inclined his head, the voice grew louder...  
  
 _Don't you hear me calling you?_  
  
...and in a flash, the Black Queen had disappeared around the corner, back towards the way they had originally come.  
  
Before Roger could follow, Ronnie pushed herself from the wall and blocked his path.  
  
"Step aside!" he warned.   
  
"You're going to pursue him?" Ronnie asked incredulously. "That's dangerous!"  
  
Roger snorted and pushed past her. "I've been hunting him for two years! I'm not giving up now that he's finally within my reach!"  
  
As Roger's light bobbed down the tunnel, in the direction the Black Queen had gone, Ronnie found herself once more plunged into darkness.  
  
"Wait!" she shouted.  
  
Roger turned impatiently.  
  
"Could you point me towards the way out?" Ronnie asked very quietly. "Or, at least in the direction of a torch?"  
  
Roger sighed. Taking long strides, he returned to her and handed her a drumstick that was identical to the one he was carrying.  
  
"Automolove!" he whispered and the drumstick in Ronnie's hand lit up, brighter than any torch.  
  
Roger pointed down the the corridor. "Keep going. You'll come to the exit eventually."  
  
"How will I return your stick?" Ronnie asked.  
  
 _"Drum-_ stick!"   
  
"Yes, sorry, drumstick...how will I return it to you?"  
  
The corner of Roger's mouth lifted in the smallest of smiles and the fierce look evaporated from his face. "I imagine our paths will cross again. I'll fetch it from you then."   
  
Before he could turn to go, Ronnie grabbed his arm. "Please, before you go, I must know..."  
  
Roger threw a restless glance over his shoulder.  
  
"Did you hear a voice when the Black Queen was standing before us?" Ronnie asked quickly.  
  
"No."  
  
"Oh." Disappointed, Ronnie released his arm. "I could have sworn..."  
  
"I don't doubt that you heard a voice in the air. If you're asking me if the voice was his, the answer is yes. He can't speak, you know."  
  
And with that being said, Roger turned and sprinted swiftly down the tunnel.  
  
\---  
  
When Ronnie finally reached the top of the iron ladder and climbed out of the well, it was still night and she was once again in the forest. Sitting heavily on the low stone wall of the well, she rested her elbows on her knees and weighed Roger's drumstick in her hands.  
  
The polished wood of this stick was also engraved, like it's twin, only this one said _Taylor...  
_  
Ronnie frowned. So was his name Roger, or was his name Taylor? With a sigh, she realized she'd just have to ask him that when their paths crossed again.  
  
The wind blew through the forest then, causing the branches to creak and throw dancing shadows on the ground. Unnerved, Ronnie blew the stick out, lest she draw any unwanted attention to herself.  
  
But the darkness only reminded her that she was stranded in the middle of a dangerous forest in the dead of night, with no friends, no map, and no hope of arriving at her original destination. Before she could allow this terrible realization to completely unhinge her, she heard footsteps from the well below.  
  
Relieved, Ronnie thought to herself it was likely just Roger (or Taylor, whatever his name was), and that he had given up his chase of the Black Queen, and their paths were already crossing again so soon. She rose from the edge of the well and backed away, to give him room to climb out.  
  
But the figure who climbed out of the well was not Roger Taylor, or Taylor Roger. It was the Black Queen.  
  
With a small gasp of fear, Ronnie began to back away.  
  
The Black Queen reached out a hand to her and the bodiless voice returned. Only this time, it didn't echo around Ronnie in a soft and ethereal manner. This time, she heard it clearly in her head, as if it were one of her very own thoughts, and this time, the voice trembled.  
  
 _S-stay right where y-you are_  
  
It wasn't like Ronnie had a choice because she had succeeded magnificently in trapping herself by backing into a large oak tree. She tried not to give into hysterical terror as the Black Queen took one step towards her and then another.  
  
When he was only an arm's length away, Ronnie found the strength to throw out her hand.  
  
"Don't," she said in a low, warning whisper. "Don't come any closer."  
  
To her astonishment, the Black Queen stopped.  
  
With her back pressed against the rough bark, Ronnie tried not to look into his blank white eyes. But when she felt the air around her vibrate, she inadvertently looked up.  
  
There he stood, staring at her, his eyes glowing and his mouth still fixed into an undeniable frown. The wind stirred his black hair ever so slightly and the vibrations in the air intensified. Ronnie realized that powerful magic was emanating from him like electricity and she tried not to think of all the harm he had done with that same powerful magic.  
  
Ronnie wondered why he hadn't killed her yet.  
  
Slowly, the Black Queen pulled an object out from under his black cloak and held it out to her.  
  
Ronnie's mind immediately turned to the fairytales and fables that permeated every shelf of her mental library. What was the Black Queen trying to give to her? A poisoned apple? A sharp spindle? Perhaps a toxic magic bean?  
  
Gripping Roger's drumstick, she tried to remember the word he had used to light it, thinking that perhaps she could blind the Black Queen, catching him off guard and giving her time to run away...  
  
At that moment, the clouds in the night sky scattered and moonlight filtered through the trees in the thick forest. The light showed Ronnie that the Black Queen was holding out her map, the very map that the wind had stolen from her pocket when she had been precariously balanced on the black cliff on the beach.   
  
_There's only one direction,_ the voice whispered into her mind.

Hope danced dangerously in Ronnie's chest as she thought that maybe, just maybe the Black Queen wasn't as evil as the legends said he was. And this thought made her tentatively step forward and reach out to him.  
  
The Black Queen's expression remained one of stone, but he opened his mouth suddenly, as if he wished to communicate more thoroughly. He closed it almost immediately, perhaps because he remembered that he couldn't speak.  
  
But in the split second before he had shut his mouth, the moonlight had shown Ronnie his teeth and her growing trust evaporated instantly.  
  
Because his teeth weren't normal teeth. No, each tooth was pointed. Each tooth was a fang.  
  
Little Jimmy's words from the day before swarmed around her like a hive of angry bees. _My older brother says the Black Queen eats virgins for breakfast.  
_  
No wonder he had such sharp teeth.   
  
Knowing that dawn - and therefore, breakfast time - couldn't be that far off, Ronnie decided that somehow she would have to find a way to take back her map without trusting him.  
  
Her saving grace came in the form of a low rumble near the well. The Black Queen turned to look over his shoulder.  
  
Seizing the opportunity, Ronnie lunged forward and grasped his wrist, with the intention of wrenching the map from his long, pale fingers and running away as fast as she could. But the moment she touched him, he spun around and fixed his white eyes on her once more. As her soft fingers pressed themselves into his cold skin, the Black Queen shivered and a terrifying orange light burst from his fingers, setting her map on fire.  
  
Ronnie released his wrist immediately. His skin had turned so hot that it had burned her and as she grasped her seared fingers, she could only watch in horror as the edges of her map curled and blackened under the flames.  
  
The Black Queen dropped the burning map and as soon as it hit the grass, the fire extinguished itself, and Ronnie's map crumbled into black dust.  
  
The rumble near the well grew louder and though it sounded very similar to a growl, Ronnie couldn't have cared less. She dropped to her knees in disbelief and scooped the ashes into her trembling hands before allowing them to fall through her fingers.  
  
What a fool she was! And to think, she had actually believed for a split second that the Black Queen was going to willingly hand her map over to her. But in reality, he was only toying with her, and he had destroyed it, along with every hope she had possessed.  
  
Slowly, she looked up at the towering figure of the Black Queen, knowing her eyes were full of fiery tears.  
  
 _Don't cry_ , she warned herself. _He's trying to unnerve you, he's trying to frighten you. Don't show him how brilliantly he has succeeded._  
  
Staring down at her for only a moment, the Black Queen crouched down to the ground so that he was eye level with her. Hissing through her teeth, Ronnie retreated backward and felt her back hit the tree yet again.  
  
The Black Queen shook his head and Ronnie could have sworn she saw some sort of emotion pass over his stony features, before she decided that such a monster couldn't possibly have a heart _or_ emotions to go with it. Though when the voice reverberated through her mind this time, it almost sounded sad...  
  
 _If I could only reach you  
_ _That would really be a breakthru_  
  
Whatever was near the well really did growl this time, and as the sinister noise filled the air and Ronnie turned her head towards it, the Black Queen disappeared.  
  
As soon as he was gone, a white creature came towards her, lurking close to the ground. As it came nearer, Ronnie found herself face to face with yet another tiger, only this one was white as snow with sparkling brown eyes.  
  
Ronnie didn't have the energy nor the will to run away and besides, the tiger seemed only curious as it sat it's rump on the ground and sniffed the contents of what was once her map.  
  
Tears welled up in Ronnie's eyes and she shocked herself by wishing that the Black Queen had just killed her when he had the chance. Instead, by burning her map and disappearing, he was subjecting her to a prolonged death of starvation and exhaustion as she trekked through this endless forest. She would eventually go mad as she wandered aimlessly through nowhere, and her family would think she had perished, and her disappearance would become a horrible legend to her schoolchildren who would no doubt think the Black Queen had captured her, and Valentino would marry someone else...  
  
Burying her face in her hands, Ronnie burst into tears. It would have been more merciful if the Black Queen had just eaten her for breakfast.  
  
As she wept pitifully, she felt a wet nose gently nudge her hand. Ronnie sniffed and looked up to see the tiger blinking innocently at her.  
  
Tentatively, Ronnie reached out a hand and stroked the beautiful animal's soft fur. Encouraged, the tiger purred loudly and making herself comfortable in the grass, laid her head affectionately in Ronnie's lap.  
  
"Delilah!"  
  
Ronnie's entire body tensed as she heard a male voice echo through the forest, but the tiger merely opened one eye, before lazily closing it.  
  
"Delilah!"  
  
Footsteps tramped through brush and bush as the voice's owner suddenly appeared, scanning his surroundings and looking quite exasperated. Ronnie quickly wiped her tears away.  
  
Spotting Ronnie and the tiger on the ground, the man let out a dramatic sigh and hurried over.  
  
"Delilah!" he admonished as he sternly acknowledged the sleepy tiger. "What were you thinking, running off like that!"  
  
He lifted his gaze to see who Delilah had chosen as worthy of her affection and when his eyes met Ronnie's, he dropped to one knee and bowed.  
  
"White Queen," he whispered reverently.  
  
Ronnie looked over her shoulder to see if there was, in fact, a white queen floating in the trees behind her, but there was no one there.  
  
The man lifted his head and Ronnie was struck by his exotic beauty. Long, dark brown hair framed a perfectly angled face with full, expressive lips. Thanks to the moonlight, she could tell his eyes were a lovely brown and lined with black liner that extended to the very corners of his eyes and beyond, giving him a cat-like appearance.  
  
"Tell me," the man said eagerly. "How did thee fare, what have thee seen..."  
  
"I think you've mistaken me for someone else," Ronnie said as she scratched Delilah's head. "I'm not a queen."  
  
"Correct," the man agreed. "You're not just any queen. You're the _White_ Queen."  
  
"I'm not," Ronnie argued. It was true that she was wearing a white cloak and underneath that, a white tunic worn over black leather pants and knee high black boots, but that didn't necessarily make her a queen.  
  
"You are!" the man insisted and as he stood, he swirled his red cape, which was trimmed with faux white fur, out of his way.  
  
"What makes you think so?" Ronnie challenged him.  
  
"Why, your sad, dark eyes, of course!" the man exclaimed, before reaching out and touching her long curls. "And the stars of lovingness in your hair."  
  
Ronnie shook her head and opened her mouth to protest, but the man held up a hand.  
  
"Allow me to introduce myself," he said with another elegant bow. "The Fairy Feller, at your service."  
  
Ronnie tilted her head as she tried to determine exactly what a Fairy Feller was.  
  
"But you may call me Freddie, if it pleases you," the man added, before scolding the overgrown cat who was resting in Ronnie's lap. "I didn't realize I was so easily replaceable, Delilah!"  
  
"Please sir," Ronnie said quietly. "Do you know the way out of the forest?"  
  
"But of course!" Freddie exclaimed, delighted to be of service. "But it's much too dark to traverse the remainder of the forest tonight. I myself wouldn't be out, except Delilah wanted to go on an _adventure."_  
  
He glared at the tiger before turning his attention to Ronnie once more. "If you'll kindly tell me where your camp is, I'll escort you there."  
  
Ronnie blushed as she dropped her gaze. "I...I don't have a camp."  
  
"No matter," Freddie replied lightly. "Tell me where you intend to camp and I'll see you safely there."  
  
"The truth is..." Ronnie sighed. "I'm rather lost."  
  
Freddie gasped in sympathy.  
  
"You see, my map was destroyed by someone who has been following me," Ronnie added and immediately wondered why she had divulged that information. Perhaps it was because there was something about Freddie the Fairy Feller that made her feel like she could trust him.  
  
"Who is following you, my dear?" Freddie inquired.  
  
Ronnie hesitated. While she found she trusted him, she was afraid he wouldn't believe her if she told him about the Black Queen. He was, after all, supposed to be just a legend. And she didn't want this kind man to think she was going slightly mad...though it's entirely possible she was.  
  
"Someone very dangerous," Ronnie said evasively.  
  
"Shark! How dare they hunt the White Queen!" Freddie said hotly, before extending a hand that was clad in black leather and extending his pinky to Ronnie. "Come to my cave, darling. You'll be safe there and first thing in the morning, I'll guide you to the nearest town."  
  
Ronnie linked her pinky with his and allowed him to pull her to her feet, disturbing Delilah and her rest in the process.  
  
\---  
  
After a five minute tread through the thickest part of the forest, they came upon a cave that was nestled atop a tree-covered hill.  
  
"A worthy fortress," Freddie remarked when they had reached the top, "where I have the advantage of spotting any intruders before they can spot me."  
  
The interior of the cave was warm, thanks to a small, brightly lit fire, and Ronnie gratefully settled herself next to it. She placed Roger's drumstick on the floor of the cave in order to accept the cup of liquid Freddie was offering her. Taking a sip, she winced. It was sweet, but it was potent.  
  
"What is this?" she asked curiously.  
  
"Champagne, darling," Freddie said as he filled his own wooden cup. "I suppose I could have give you water, but that's incredibly plain and besides, you look like you need something a tad stronger. And I mean that in the most flattering way possible, my dear."  
  
Delilah nudged Roger's drumstick with her nose and it rolled towards Freddie, who picked it up and studied the inscription on the side.  
  
"Don't tell me your stalker is Roger," he said with interest.  
  
"Oh, no," Ronnie said as she continued to sip her champagne. "I met Roger underground in the well and he gave me this to find my way out of the tunnel while he..."  
  
She trailed off uncertainly, once again faced with the decision of mentioning the Black Queen or not.  
  
"...hunted the Black Queen?" Freddie suggested casually.  
  
"How did you know that?" Ronnie asked in surprise.  
  
Freddie hesitated momentarily, looking like he wanted very much to confess something, before he recovered and replied, "Roger is an old friend who is obsessed with finding the Black Queen. Tell me, darling, is that who you were running from?"  
  
"Yes," Ronnie admitted softly.  
  
"How do you know the Black Queen means you harm?" Freddie asked very carefully.  
  
Anger burned in Ronnie's belly, but it was dulled almost instantly by the champagne running down her throat. "He set my map aflame."  
  
Freddie raised his eyebrows. "Did he now?"  
  
"Yes," Ronnie continued, relieved that he believed her and feeling safe enough to offer a little bit more information. "And I keep hearing his voice but Roger said he can't actually talk..."  
  
"Roger's right about that, at least," Freddie confirmed. "It takes considerable effort for the Black Queen to project his voice into the minds of those he wishes to speak to. And to make matters even more complicated, he can only communicate through song lyrics, the poor dear."  
  
Ronnie raised her eyebrows. _The poor dear?_  
  
A warning sounded deep within her heart. Not only was Freddie the Fairy Feller apparently sympathetic towards the Black Queen, he was also turning out to be very knowledgeable about him and it was the type of knowledge that bordered on intimacy, as if he _knew_ him...  
  
"According to legend, at least," Freddie added quickly and Ronnie realized that her rising distrust must have been clear in her eyes, in her expression, in the way her fingers were gripping her cup. She forced herself to relax and finish her champagne.  
  
"Now, my dear," Freddie said kindly as he handed Roger's drumstick back to her. "Might I suggest a good night's sleep? We have a long journey ahead of us in the morning."  
  
Ronnie nodded, thanked Freddie for his hospitality, and wrapped herself in her cloak. As she lay beside the fire, she tried not to think about the Black Queen and she tried to push away the feeling that Freddie wasn't being entirely truthful with her.  
  
She only felt secure enough to drift off into a light sleep when Roger's stick was securely in her fist and when Delilah had sauntered over and curled up beside her.  
  
\---  
  
A distant voice woke Ronnie a few hours later.  
  
Lifting her head, she saw the fire was now nothing more than tendrils of smoke and a very faint light was bathing the outside world in pink. Beside her, Delilah snored softly.  
  
Ronnie recognized the voice as Freddie's and she wondered who he was talking to. Or if he was talking to himself, because his was the only voice she could hear...  
  
Rising to her knees, Ronnie crawled away from Delilah, around the fire, and to the mouth of the cave. Keeping herself out of sight, she tucked her hair behind her ear and listened.  
  
"How dare you, darling!" Freddie's voice exclaimed.  
  
Silence.  
  
"How dare you just leave me like that? Do you know how long it took me to find you?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"Ages! That's how long! I was so _worried!"_  
  
Silence.  
  
"Yes, I know fucking Roger is hunting you."  
  
Ronnie's eyes widened as Freddie's words from the night before returned to her. _Roger is an old friend who is obsessed with finding the Black Queen...  
_  
There was only one possible person Freddie could have been talking to at that moment because there was only one possible person Roger was hunting. And there was only one possible person who wouldn't be able to respond vocally.  
  
Fearing her instinct was true but needing to know for sure, Ronnie lowered herself to her elbows, inched closer to the entrance, and peered out of the cave.  
  
Standing against the rising sun with his eyes glowing in the early light of dawn was the Black Queen, still as a statue as Freddie paced back and forth restlessly. With a sharp inhale, Ronnie drew back out of sight.  
  
"Did you forget that when you were cursed, we were all cursed, too?" Freddie continued. "You're not in this alone, darling, I wish you could have seen that before you ran away!"  
  
Ronnie dropped her face into her hands. Apparently she was cursed as well...with stupidity! She had once again let her guard down and this was the result. Trapped in a cave, partly under the influence of alcohol, and totally at the mercy of the Black Queen and the Fairy Feller.   
  
Freddie _hadn't_ been entirely truthful with her. He had claimed that his knowledge about the Black Queen came from legends when in fact, his knowledge was first-hand. Apparently, they were _friends!_ She hadn't even thought it was possible for a monster like the Black Queen to have friends.   
  
And it was a complete mystery to her why the Black Queen was harboring such an interest in her, why he wouldn't leave her be when surely there were other travelers in the woods to terrorize. But he had her cornered now and she was sure that Freddie would be loyal to him rather than to her.  
  
Adrenaline surged through her as her body and mind went into survival mode. Getting to her feet, she looked wildly around for something to defend herself with. There was Roger's drumstick, which she didn't know how to use...  
  
...but if it came down to it, she was sure it could cause some sort of physical harm.   
  
It was only as she was tucking the drumstick into her pocket that she noticed the black rope coiled beside Freddie's pack. Grasping the rope in both hands, Ronnie pressed her back against the rocky cave wall and tried to tone down her anxiety long enough to come up with a plan.  
  
She was forced to act swiftly when Freddie suddenly strode into the cave. He walked right past her without noticing her, as she was hiding in the shadows, and as he stared down at the spot where she had been sleeping, she slipped out into the crisp morning air.  
  
The Black Queen was slowly walking away, his back to her as he wrapped his arms around himself. Ronnie felt her heart soften slightly because the gesture made him seem so... _human._ But just as quickly, she told herself to snap out of it because this was the _Black Queen_ , destroyer of maps, not to mention hopes, dreams, and travel itineraries!   
  
She watched with a racing heart as he circled a large, thick tree and disappeared behind it.  
  
It was then that an idea formed within Ronnie's mind and she seized it instantly. What if there was a way she could strand the Black Queen here, at least long enough to make her escape, long enough where he'd lose her trail...  
  
Within the cave, she heard Freddie interrogating Delilah about her whereabouts and knew she didn't have much time. Slowly and stealthily, she crept over to the tree and crouched behind it. With her hands lightly touching the bark, she leaned to the right and though the tree was very wide, she was still able to see an elbow and knew the Black Queen was there, waiting for Freddie to bring her to him.  
  
The very thought enraged her and she decided she would find a way to secure the Black Queen to this very tree and then _he'd_ know what it felt like to be trapped, to be stuck in the forest, and...  
  
Ronnie tried to fight the unnecessarily evil smile she felt spreading across her face but she was sleep deprived, travel weary, and frightened, and so she embraced her inner beast and rising, reached for a branch and remembered how she had successfully completed her first task, quite by accident.  
  
 _Climb a tree, for only by knowing your own strength will you be equipped to carry your own child, within the womb and without.  
  
_ Ronnie sent a silent thank you to Oscar the tiger for placing her in a situation the evening before where she had to learn to climb a tree quickly and without too much thought. As a result, she was confident she could do it again and, taking care to do so quietly, Ronnie hoisted herself into the tree and leaned forward slightly.  
  
Sure enough, there the Black Queen was, leaning against the tree with his arms folded, apparently staring straight ahead at nothing.  
  
Uncoiling the rope, Ronnie gripped an end in each hand and began to lower the rope slowly, until it was hovering just above the Black Queen's head. Crouching low, she bit her lip in concentration because the next phase of her plan had to be executed quickly. She had to drop the rope to the level of his chest and with a mighty pull, pin him to the tree with it, before jumping down and tying the rope securely around the tree trunk.  
  
Just as Ronnie was steeling herself to do just that, the Black Queen looked up at her. As her eyes met his white stare, she felt terror engulf her anew, just like every time she gazed into those eyes.   
  
Reaching up, the Black Queen grabbed the rope and pulled. Ronnie, still holding tightly to it, felt herself yanked forward and down before she fell directly into the Black Queen's arms.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Freddie tells us the Black Queen can only communicate in song lyrics and as a result, every italicized communication/thought/voice, no matter how short or basic, will be from Queen's lyrics.
> 
> Thank you all for reading, commenting, and kudos-ing! :) I appreciate it so much!


	3. Chapter 3

_He didn't let me fall.  
_  
That was Ronnie's startled first thought as the Black Queen caught her, with one arm securely under her knees and the other arm firmly around her waist.  
  
 _And his eyes_ aren't _completely white._  
  
With her face just mere inches from his, she could see that the pupil was still unnervingly white when it really should have been black, but each eye did possess an iris. It was a very light silver, almost imperceptible, and it would be invisible to all who saw him from afar.  
  
An angry red cut was embedded in the middle of his bottom lip and Ronnie found herself wondering how he had come to receive it...  
  
"Release her!"  
  
An angry voice from behind pulled Ronnie roughly from her trance and remembering where she was and who was holding her, Ronnie tumbled out of the Black Queen's arms.  
  
 _Of course he caught you!_ she scolded herself as she backed away. _Virgins are probably a tastier breakfast choice when they're alive!  
_  
As she folded her arms protectively around herself, she saw the owner of the voice - none other than Roger of the Magical Drumsticks - shove an unceremonious knee into the back of the Black Queen's thigh, forcing him to drop to his knees.  
  
Ronnie, from her safe vantage point twenty feet away, wondered why the Black Queen didn't turn Roger into a pile of ashes, like her map. But then she saw the drumstick that Roger had thrust into the Black Queen's back and guessed it was a weapon in and of itself.  
  
The Black Queen didn't move, though he did close his eyes briefly.  
  
"Quickly!" Roger shouted to Ronnie. "My drumstick! Point it at his heart!"  
  
Ronnie pulled Roger's other drumstick from her pocket and did as she was told.  
  
Roger stared at her incredulously. "You can't execute him from all the way over there!"   
  
Ronnie's mouth fell open. "Execute him?"  
  
"Yes!" Roger said in exasperation. "The Black Queen can only be killed by the White Queen!"  
  
Ronnie folded her arms. "You'd better go find her, then."  
  
"I must say, Roger darling," Freddie's voice said smoothly from behind Ronnie, "that is a very interesting interpretation of the goddess Elektra's prophecy."  
  
Roger didn't seem one bit surprised by the appearance of the Fairy Feller.  
  
"It's the truth!" he said hotly. "The Black Queen has to die by The White Queen's hand in order for..." His voice faltered. "...in order for Deaky to come back to us."  
  
Freddie strolled up to the tree, put a hand on the Black Queen's shoulder, and said quietly, "Roger, this _is_ Deaky."  
  
In a flash, Roger recovered himself. "No, it's not!"  
  
"You've interpreted Elektra's message entirely wrong! The curse will only be broken by the trust of a woman in white!"  
  
"The curse will only be broken when the woman in white trusts herself enough to cut the Black Queen down!" Roger retorted.  
  
"Well, yes, I suppose you could interpret it that way," Freddie admitted, "but it doesn't necessarily mean his death..."  
  
Roger turned to Ronnie. "Prepare for his execution!"   
  
"You mean murder!" Freddie exclaimed.   
  
"I am _not_ the White Queen!" Ronnie protested, and in her desire to appear convincing, she came closer to the trio under the tree. "I'm just a schoolteacher from the northwest!"  
  
"That's precisely something a White Queen would say," Freddie declared.

"You weren't the White Queen _at first_ ," Roger pointed out. "I couldn't tell it was you in the darkness of the well but now I see..." He shook his head to bring himself back to the present moment. "If you don't execute him, he's just going to continue to haunt you!"  
  
Ronnie swallowed hard because Roger had certainly struck a nerve and he most certainly knew it. Ever since the night before, when the Black Queen had chased her into the well, fear had lit a fire of anxiety in her heart that no amount of optimism could extinguish.  
  
And quite frankly, it was crippling. She didn't think she could bear to go on feeling this way, knowing he would always be lurking in the shadows and...  
  
"That's it," Roger said in an excited whisper as Ronnie crept closer and slowly raised the drumstick into the air.  
  
"And what's she going to do with that stick?" Freddie asked tersely. "Poke his eye out?"  
  
Up until that point, the Black Queen had stared straight ahead as Roger and Freddie argued over him. But now, as Ronnie stopped a few feet before him and aimed the drumstick at his heart, he looked up at her.  
  
The voice echoed through her mind.  
  
 _There are plenty of ways that you can hurt a man and bring him to the ground_  
  
Ronnie's hand shook as he held her gaze with his and refused to let go.  
  
 _You can beat him, you can cheat him, you can treat him bad and leave him when he's down..._  
  
"No!" Roger fumed in reply to Freddie's question. "She's going to say the magic words and obliterate his heart, _obviously!"_  
  
Freddie snorted. "Your stick can't do that. It's nothing but a glorified flashlight."  
  
Roger turned to Ronnie in a huff. "All you have to do is say the magic words! Say _Real Cardiac_ and he'll never terrorize you again!"  
  
Ronnie lifted her chin slightly and tightened her grasp on the drumstick as the Black Queen continued to stare up at her.  
  
Freddie turned and addressed Roger in a low, passionate voice. "Deaky and the Black Queen are the same person! If the Black Queen dies, Deaky dies with him!"  
  
Roger hesitated for a moment, before he growled, "I'm not stupid enough to believe that! Deaky would have never done to me what this wretch has!"  
  
Ronnie blinked because for a split second, she could have sworn she saw regret pass through the Black Queen's eyes.  
  
As Freddie opened his mouth to argue, Roger stormed to Ronnie's side. "Do what you must, White Queen, before it's too late!"  
  
Ronnie tried to look elsewhere - at the autumn-tinged grass, or at the black rope that lay forgotten on the ground, or even the smoothly polished drumstick in her own trembling fingers - anywhere but into the Black Queen's eyes, but she found her gaze was drawn back to his, as if by a magnetic force.  
  
 _It's late but not too late,_ the voice whispered in her ear.  
  
Ronnie bit her lip uncertainly. She wanted so badly to be free of him, but at the same time, she didn't think she could live with herself knowing she'd taken a man's life, even if that man _was_ the Black Queen.  
  
As Ronnie's mind waged war on her heart, she found herself noticing small and insignificant details. Like the freckle on the Black Queen's cheek, just below his left eye, that was faint enough to disguise itself as part of his pale skin. And the slightest indentation by his mouth that would no doubt blend neatly into the full curve of his cheek if he ever found it within himself to smile. And the gentle lines that extended from the inner corners of his eyes and out to his cheekbones, as if he hadn't had a proper night's sleep in a very long time...  
  
Did monsters really have these features?  
  
 _"Real Cardiac!"_ Roger whispered to her, as if she had possibly managed to forget those two words that could so easily kill.  
  
Freddie shook his head very slowly, imploring her not to go through with it.  
  
Ronnie took a deep breath, the words on the tip of her tongue, though her mind was not yet made up and...  
  
"Wait!"  
  
Ronnie and Roger spun around at the exact same time to see a beautiful woman standing at the hill's top.  
  
"What's this man's crime?" she demanded as she came forward.  
  
Ronnie glanced at Roger, but for the first time since she'd met him, he appeared to be at a loss for words. He was no doubt mesmerized by the woman's long, blonde hair, her soft facial features, the way her dress of silver-gray managed to modestly cover her body and accentuate her curves at the very same time.  
  
"Yes," Freddie said with interest to Roger. "Tell her what the _Black Queen_ did to you to make you so bitter, darling."  
  
The woman turned attentively to Roger, who turned red and finally finding his voice, spluttered, "It's...it's not important! What's important was what he was going to do to _her!"_   
  
Everyone turned to look at Ronnie, who felt a spine-tingling chill sliding down the entire length of her back. She turned a look of icy accusation upon the Black Queen.  
  
The Black Queen's soft voice filled the air.  
  
 _I've done my sentence. But committed no crime._  
  
The woman's eyebrows raised in surprise at the voice in flight, before she accepted it and nodded. "And even so, you can't be executed without a fair trial."  
  
Ronnie did not lower the drumstick.  
  
"You have no reason to fear him, darling," Freddie said gently. "Roger is merely letting his imagination run away with him gladly."  
  
Ronnie blinked back tears. It wasn't easy to be asked to take a life, to be caught between two men at war, to know that simply walking away might be a mistake.  
  
"Darling, please," Freddie whispered as he stood behind the Black Queen and placed his hands on his shoulders. "He's my best friend."  
  
Ronnie felt an arm encircle her from behind and gentle fingers laid upon her own. Slowly, the woman lowered Ronnie's hand and the drumstick along with it.  
  
"Aren't you lucky," Ronnie said derisively to Freddie and, feeling quite overwhelmed at what she had almost done, she turned and fled back to the cave.  
  
As she entered the rocky haven, she passed Delilah, who was yawning while sauntering out into the early morning sun.  
  
"You missed all the excitement," Ronnie muttered to her.  
  
Adorning her cloak and slinging her bag over her shoulder, Ronnie had every intention of making her escape by descending the hill as far away from everyone else as possible, until she realized she was still holding Roger's drumstick.  
  
She could have easily taken it, but she was no thief and besides, it was useless to her if she didn't know how to use it. Reluctantly, she trudged back to the tree and trying not to look at the Black Queen, who was once more standing tall, she held the drumstick out to Roger.  
  
"Don't leave, darling," Freddie implored her. "I know you're afraid and I know you're proud, but you are also hopelessly lost. As lost, in fact, as Roger's wits when he sees a beautiful woman."  
  
Roger, who was now leaning against the tree and trying to appear cool and collected, scowled.  
  
Ronnie turned her gaze upon the Black Queen, not bothering to hide her resentment.   
  
"You may not have a map," Freddie continued. "but you do have the knowledge of seasoned travelers at your very fingertips. We can take you exactly where you need to go."  
  
Ronnie's skeptical gaze swept across the trio of men. "All three of you?"  
  
"Well...yes," Freddie admitted, before facing the Black Queen and adding sternly, "It took me two years to find _you_ darling, so I'm not letting you out of my sight again." He then turned to Roger. "And I'm assuming that _you_ aren't letting Deaky out of _your_ sight, either."  
  
Roger twirled the drumstick through his fingers. "Not until I see him tried at the nearest courthouse and executed."  
  
Ignoring Roger's remark, Freddie assured Ronnie, "The three of us combined have an extraordinary knowledge of the geography of Nevermore. Name any place, we can take you there, darling."  
  
Ronnie folded her arms and fixed him with a doubtful look.  
  
The woman, who had been listening patiently a few feet away and must have sensed Ronnie's discomfort, said, "You're all welcome to travel with us for today, if you'd like."  
  
"Us?" Roger asked curiously.  
  
"The gypsies," the woman explained. "We're going south for the winter and we're expecting to be in the nearest town by noon tomorrow. We can bring you that far, at least."  
  
They all turned to Ronnie, who hesitated.  
  
The woman put a hand on Ronnie's shoulder. "That will give you a day and a half's time to get to know your traveling companions while in the safety of a larger group. And if by noon tomorrow your heart is still warning you against them, you can change your course of action."  
  
It wasn't easy to make a decision with four pairs of expectant eyes on her, but Ronnie knew her only other option was to wander through the forest by herself until she came upon someone else who could help her, or a town, and there was no guarantee she'd come upon either of those things on her own.   
  
Quite frankly, to refuse the woman's offer would be suicide and so, Ronnie nodded her assent.  
  
The woman smiled. "Meet me at the bottom of the hill in a quarter of an hour."   
  
Ronnie followed her immediately, for she had everything she needed and besides, she wasn't ready to be left alone with the three men who were soon to be her traveling escort.  
  
On the way down the hill, the woman extended her pinky to Ronnie. "I'm Sarina."  
  
Ronnie touched her pinky to Sarina's and introduced herself in turn. She couldn't help but smile when, from behind her, she heard Roger repeat the name in an awed whisper.

"Sarina..."  
  
A quarter of an hour later, Ronnie saw the Black Queen, the Fairy Feller, and Delilah the tiger appear at the top of the hill. She watched with unrestrained curiosity as the Fairy Feller reached up and pulled the Black Queen's hood up over his head and pull leather gloves over his fingers. She knew then that Freddie was hiding the Black Queen's face and hands, lest Sarina's band of gypsies realize who they were traveling with.  
  
\---  
  
"I know you don't trust us," Freddie said knowingly around mid-day.  
  
Ronnie looked over at Freddie as they tramped through the forest. Had she made it that obvious by refusing to walk in front of the Black Queen and the Fairy Feller? By always walking behind them so she could keep an eye on them, exactly like Roger was doing?  
  
"And I know you fear Deaky," Freddie continued. "But rest assured, he means you no harm, darling. It was not his intention to frighten you and destroy your map."  
  
"How do you know that?" Ronnie asked suspiciously.  
  
Freddie looked slightly uncomfortable.  
  
"Yes, Freddie," Roger said sardonically from behind them. "Do tell us how you know that."  
  
Freddie waved his hand dismissively. "What's important is that in spite of what you believe, my dear, he wants to help you."  
  
Roger snorted.  
  
Ronnie eyed the Black Queen's back and was momentarily caught off guard as his voice permeated her mind.  
  
 _I'll take you to the Seven Seas of Rhye_  
  
Ronnie couldn't imagine traveling all the way to the Seven Seas of Rhye with the Black Queen. She wasn't sure exactly how long it would take to get there, but she knew it was far, because it had been one of the very last destinations on her map.  
  
Another hour passed in a silence that was broken only by the snapping of twigs on the ground as they continued to journey through the trees.  
  
"Don't you _dare!"_ Freddie said suddenly, throwing a fierce look over his shoulder at Roger.

"What!" Roger exclaimed irritably.  
  
"Don't think I don't know what kind of villainous tricks you're planning!" Freddie snapped. "Leave Deaky alone! You are not to touch him, you are not to torment him, and you are not to harm him in any way!"  
  
"Stop reading my mind!" Roger flung back.  
  
Freddie glanced uneasily at Ronnie out of the corner of his eye as he replied quietly, "Come, darling, you know I can't help it!"  
  
But Ronnie had already turned to Freddie with wide eyes. "You can read minds?"  
  
Freddie hesitated, before sighing. "Unfortunately, darling."  
  
"So you were reading my mind this entire time?" Ronnie asked flatly.  
  
"It's unavoidable, I'm afraid," Freddie said apologetically. "When Deaky was cursed as the Black Queen, I was cursed with the ability to read minds."  
  
"Yes, what a terrible curse," Roger said sarcastically.  
  
"It truly is," Freddie said to Ronnie. "Do you think I want to know every time Roger has the urge to scratch his arse?"  
  
As Roger muttered a variety of colorful obscenities behind them, Freddie continued, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, darling. I didn't want you to distrust us more than you already do. But think of it this way: your map is imprinted in Deaky's mind. I can read his mind. Without us, darling, you'd remain lost."  
  
Freddie's words caused a dreadful sinking feeling in the pit of Ronnie's stomach because she realized he was right and she was trapped, in every sense of the word.  
  
"Is that why he burned it?" she asked bitterly. "So I'd be forced to travel with him?"  
  
Freddie looked sadly at the Black Queen, who had continued to walk ahead of them, not bothering to join his voice into the conversation or even look their way.  
  
"It was an accident," he confirmed.  
  
"He set my map on fire by _accident?"_ Ronnie asked in disbelief.  
  
"He wasn't expecting you to touch him," Freddie explained as he eyed the Black Queen carefully and Ronnie guessed he was obtaining this information straight from the Black Queen's mind. "Caught off guard, he let go of his magical restraint and...poof! The extermination of your dear map."  
  
That may have explained the destruction of her map, yet it didn't explain why the Black Queen wouldn't leave her be. As the wind gently stirred the leaves of the trees, Ronnie curled her hands into fists and wondered if Freddie was telling the truth or merely making excuses for his _best friend._  
  
Eventually, her mind turned back to earlier that morning, when Freddie had admonished the Black Queen for running away by saying, _did you forget that when you were cursed, we were all cursed, too?_  
  
Ronnie glanced at Roger, who was carrying both drumsticks in one hand. Though his arm was down by his side, the drumsticks were still pointed at the Black Queen's back.  
  
She wondered what Roger's curse was.  
  
\---  
  
Ronnie, staring into the hot flames and willing her mind to be blank, tried not to think about the fact that she was sharing an evening campfire with the Black Queen or the fact that Roger might try to convince her to execute the Black Queen again.   
  
Mostly, she tried not to think about the fact that Freddie had likely known all her thoughts from the moment he had met her.  
  
"Darling."  
  
Freddie's firm voice pulled Ronnie back to reality, though she really would have preferred to remain as she was, staring aimlessly into the fire and trying to pretend the Black Queen wasn't sitting to her left.  
  
"You don't need to control your thoughts around me," Freddie said kindly. "Don't try so hard, my dear."  
  
"Don't listen to him, White Queen," Roger grumbled as he drummed his sticks restlessly against his knees. "You do exactly as you please."  
  
Ignoring Roger, Freddie sighed. "I assure you, darling, I'm only able to skim the surface of your mind. I don't go any deeper than that."  
  
Silence fell over the clearing and Ronnie once more fell into her tumultuous thoughts as she watched the flames dance. She was pulled back to the present once again by the appearance of Sarina, who smiled softly at them all but held her hand out to Roger.  
  
"Come," she said to him. "I want to show you something."  
  
Roger obediently placed his hand in hers and allowed her to lead him into the forest.  
  
Freddie watched them go with an expression of amusement, before he leaned forward, nodded towards the Black Queen, and whispered loudly to Ronnie, "Please, call him Deaky."  
  
Ronnie stared at him incredulously.  
  
"You're calling him the Black Queen in your mind," Freddie said. "If you call him Deaky, he won't seem so frightening."  
  
Ronnie unintentionally looked over at the Black Queen and took in his arched eyebrows, his white eyes (because she could no longer discern the silver irises from where she sat), the frown...  
  
"He can't help it that he's scaring looking," Freddie looked sadly at the Black Queen. "Can you, darling?"  
  
The Black Queen bowed his head.  
  
Ronnie sighed and dropped her chin into her hands as the awkwardness of sitting with the man who could read every single one of her thoughts, as well as the man who could project his voice into her mind, washed over her continuously.  
  
\---  
  
Sarina sat Roger down in the dark forest and lit a fat, wax candle. Placing it on a nearby tree stump, she gracefully took a seat, her knees touching his.  
  
"Why the candle?" Roger asked and Sarina knew he was observing the fact that it didn't give off enough light to see much of anything.  
  
"In the quiet of the night, let our candle always burn," Sarina recited, before adding, "It reminds me to never lose the lessons I have learned."  
  
Roger nodded, accepting this, and Sarina smiled to herself. He was likely wondering at that very moment why she had brought him here.  
  
The truth was, she had sensed a great disturbance in his soul from the moment she had met him that morning and she wanted to learn more. Taking his hand, she turned it palm up and by the light of the moon, observed the deep lines.  
  
She glanced up at Roger and whispered, "Relax."  
  
Roger visibly deflated and waited patiently for her to continue.  
  
With one gentle finger, Sarina traced the lines of his palm thoughtfully.   
  
_A wavy heart line, that indicates many lovers, none of them serious. The head line is crossed, that means he's experiencing an emotional crisis. There is a circular life line present, which points towards an injury._  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, Sarina observed Roger's relaxed physical stance, before returning to reading his palm.  
  
 _Though he doesn't look physically injured, perhaps it's an emotional injury...let's see, he has a rather deep fate line, so fate must be strongly controlling him at this moment in time..._  
  
She looked up into Roger's eyes then and frowning, observed a few additional details that his palm couldn't tell her.  
  
"You've been betrayed," she said softly, knowing it wasn't by a lover, if his love line was saying he had no serious relationships. "Likely by a close friend."  
  
Roger went completely still.  
  
Still holding his hand in hers, Sarina continued to put the pieces of the mysterious puzzle together based on Roger's palm lines and what she had witnessed that morning. "This person has ignited a crisis within your heart. At the same time, they have injured you in a way you find unforgivable."   
  
_Yes,_ Freddie had said that morning. _Tell her what the Black Queen did to you to make you so bitter, darling._  
  
"You're relying on what you've been told, on fate's instructions, to try and make things right..." Sarina continued.  
  
The staged execution this morning...had that been his way of righting a wrong?  
  
"...though you're beyond hurt," Sarina finished in a whisper. "You're furious."  
  
Roger lowered his gaze, fixing it on on her lower left arm and the words that were tattooed there: _infinity love._ She wasn't at all surprised that he couldn't look her in the eye. It often wasn't easy for people to hear the truth, especially if the truth hurt.  
  
And then, Sarina felt cool metal against her palm as Roger tried to press a silver coin into her hand.  
  
"No," she said gently, as she returned the coin to him and closed his own fingers over it.  
  
"Shouldn't I pay you for your services?" Roger asked bluntly.  
  
"I didn't need to do a palm reading to know all that," Sarina said quietly. "I could see most of it in your eyes."  
  
And she watched as Roger looked up at her, his clear blue eyes dilated with shock.  
  
\---  
  
"It's quite natural to be homesick, my dear," Freddie said casually as he poked a stick into the flames to stir the fire.  
  
Ronnie looked up. "Read that in my mind, did you?"  
  
"No, darling," Freddie said as he reached down to stroke Delilah's fur. "It's quite apparent on your face."  
  
Ronnie shifted uncomfortably on her stump but was saved from answering by a sharp rustling in the woods. Grateful, she turned her head towards the sound while making sure her long hair was hiding her face from the Black Queen. The last thing she needed was for him to know _any_ of her weaknesses.  
  
The rustling came to an abrupt end as Roger emerged from the trees and stormed by their fire without so much as a word. They watched as, at the opposite end of the clearing, he threw his cloak on the ground and laid upon it, folding his arms stubbornly.  
  
Not wishing to discuss her homesickness and not able to bear the close proximity of the Black Queen any longer, Ronnie rose to her feet.  
  
"Yes, excellent idea," Freddie agreed. "We should all get some much needed rest."  
  
Ronnie turned to leave the fire, but Freddie held out his hand quickly to stop her.  
  
"Darling, why don't you stay here, where it's warm?" he suggested.  
  
Ronnie hesitated.  
  
Sensing her discomfort, Freddie added, "In spite of what you believe, my dear, and in spite of what Roger tells you, you _are_ safe here."  
  
Ronnie turned her gaze upon the Black Queen, who slowly looked up at her with a face devoid of emotion, and she couldn't help but remember the way he had pursued her over the course of an entire night, through woods and well and eventually to Freddie's cave. Even if she had no explanation for that, she did have an explanation for the destruction of her map and it proved to her that the Black Queen was still dangerous because there were moments when he could unknowingly unleash his terrible power.  
  
"No, thank you," Ronnie said quietly. "I fear it's a bit _too_ warm here."  
  
Hurrying past the Black Queen, Ronnie found she could only breathe easier when she had reached the safety of the treeline. As she lay on the ground near Roger, she wrapped an arm around Delilah, who had followed her, and listened to the distant sound of the gypsies enjoying the night.  
  
\---  
  
Freddie frowned as the White Queen settled herself a few feet from Roger, before turning his gaze back to Deaky. Though his face was a mask as he stared straight ahead into the fire, Freddie could read in Deaky's mind that the White Queen's distrust had disheartened him to the point of hopelessness and at any moment...  
  
Right on cue, the white glow of Deaky's eyes intensified as the pupils turned red and the flames of the fire leapt higher at a very alarming rate.  
  
Freddie sighed because Deaky had just proven to him that he was still allowing his emotions to fuel his magic. He was still not able to control his power, the poor dear.  
  
Deaky closed his eyes and the flames resumed their normal dance.  
  
Yet, Freddie knew that now was not the moment to admonish his friend. Now was not the time to tell him that he needed to be careful, that the White Queen could have been harmed when he unwittingly set her map aflame the night before, that the White Queen would have been more frightened than she already was if she had seen what he had just done to their fire.   
  
No, Freddie merely reached forward and put a reassuring hand on Deaky's arm.  
  
"Don't you dare give up," Freddie whispered to him. "Not yet, darling."  
  
With a nod that was almost imperceptible, Deaky turned on the stump he was seated on and wrapped his cloak tightly around himself. With a sinking heart, Freddie realized that Deaky was preparing himself for a long sleepless night of watching over the two people who distrusted him the most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Palm reading specifics came from Wiki How :)


	4. Chapter 4

The leaf was absolutely perfect in every way.  
  
As Ronnie stared longingly up at it, she admired the five identically pointed corners and the radiant hues of red, orange, and gold that splashed color onto the frond. It was a shame that it was so high up.  
  
Or was it?  
  
Ronnie tentatively looked around, but the gypsies and her own traveling escort were too engaged in their fifteen minute rest period to notice her.  
  
Or so she thought.  
  
As she crept towards the tree that housed the prize leaflet, she allowed herself to feel the tiniest spark of excitement that she'd be completing another task on her list:   
  
_Acquire a leaf and press it into a book to remind yourself that the smallest memories are often the ones that should be treasured the most._  
  
Stepping onto a nearby stump, Ronnie stood on her tip toes and reached up.  
  
\---  
  
Freddie leaned against his own respective tree and watched the White Queen with unrestrained curiosity. If she wanted a leaf, surely she could have chosen one that was on a lower branch, or perhaps one that had already conveniently fallen onto the ground? All the leaves were sparkling with morning dew and all the leaves were very bright, yet she wanted _that_ one, the one that was just out of reach.  
  
Inclining his head, Freddie was just deciding that he should really pluck a leaf from the tree he was leaning against and present it to her before she broke her neck, when he saw a most heartwarming sight.  
  
Deaky was walking slowly and quietly towards the White Queen, his arm already raised to assist her in capturing the unobtainable leaf. He was, after all, tall enough to reach it without any trouble, the kind darling. Feeling more comfortable now that his back was to the gypsies, he removed the hood of his cloak in order to see better.  
  
Peering effortlessly into Deaky's mind, Freddie could tell he was being extremely careful, so as not to startle her. But little did he know that Roger was approaching from the side, his arms lifted and the fingers of his hands spread wide as he stealthily edged closer.  
  
Freddie didn't need to read Roger's mind to know his intentions were not noble.  
  
"Roger!" he hissed. _"Roger!"_  
  
Roger stopped momentarily and looked over his shoulder with an annoyed expression.  
  
 _No!_ Freddie mouthed to him, making sure he was wearing his most threatening facial expression. _Absolutely not!_  
  
But Roger merely smirked and completely disregarding Freddie's warning, he turned and focused on Deaky once again.  
  
Pushing himself from the tree, Freddie crouched low and hurried towards Roger. If he could catch Roger before he reached Deaky, then he could prevent what would clearly be a traumatizing experience. If he could prevent Roger's villainy, a beautiful moment would be born between Deaky and the White Queen, a moment that Deaky desperately needed.  
  
He should have known it would all go to hell. It always did, didn't it?  
  
Freddie managed to catch the hood of Roger's cloak, stopping him in his tracks and yanking him backward. Spinning around, Roger tugged furiously at his cloak as he tried to get Freddie to let go.  
  
Freddie entwined his fingers tightly in the fine fabric, but it was no use. With a mighty pull, Roger freed his cloak but lost his balance, tottered to the side, tripped over a rock, and sailed directly into Deaky.  
  
Freddie covered his face because he couldn't bear to look, before forcing himself to peek through his fingers as he saw Roger crash into Deaky, pushing him into the White Queen and knocking her off her stump.  
  
\---  
  
Ronnie's fingers had just made contact with the coveted leaf when she felt a force slam into her from behind, throwing her forward towards the trunk of the tree. As her heart flew into her throat and she tried to prepare herself for the impact, she felt arms wrap themselves around her as she and whatever had pushed her fell into the tree together.  
  
But she never actually hit the tree. Whoever was holding her received the brunt impact, hitting the tree with the entire right side of their body while she remained safely enclosed in their embrace.  
  
And then everything was quiet. The underlying hum of conversations, the soft nickering of the horses, even the chirping of the birds had stopped. Somehow, Ronnie knew that every eye in the camp was now on her and whoever was holding her from behind.  
  
As she inhaled deeply to remind herself that she was safe, Ronnie glanced down at the arms around her and allowed her gaze to travel down the forearm, to the wrist, and finally to the black fingernails that adorned each long finger.  
  
With a small gasp of fear, Ronnie tore herself out of the Black Queen's grasp and spun around in time to see him raising his hood to cover his face.  
  
Slowly, she opened the fingers of her right hand, which until that moment had been closed in a tight fist. Resting in her palm was the perfect leaf, only it wasn't so perfect anymore. It was crushed, barely intact, and small pieces of it clung to her fingers. 

As Ronnie felt her lower lip tremble, the Black Queen took a step towards her. Without hesitation, she turned away and walked around the tree and into the thicket, so that no one could see the tears in her eyes.  
  
She pressed the fist that contained the squashed leaf against her heart as her face fell. Her tears weren't for the leaf; no, there would be other leaves. Rather, her tears were a terrible mixture of fright, homesickness, and frustration.  
  
"Brighton? Brighton!"  
  
Ronnie looked around as a voice echoed through the trees, a voice that was most certainly _not_ coming from the camp behind her. As she observed her surroundings for any sign of humanity, she found instead a small creature on the damp ground.  
  
It had slick, light brown fur and tiny little legs, as well as a nose the size of a dog's. The color of it's face was white, with the exception of two dark brown streaks that ran from the nose, around the eyes, and up over the ears.  
  
The creature blinked up at her as the voice, sounding slightly panicked this time, shouted, _"Brighton!"_  
  
A very tall man burst forth from the trees and with a sigh of relief, scooped the creature into his arms and exclaimed, _"There_ you are, Brighton, I've been looking everywhere for you!"  
  
He gave Ronnie a friendly smile and added, "I'm not surprised he found you. He can never resist a lovely face."  
  
Ronnie felt the corner of her mouth lift in a tiny smile and she allowed her heart to inflate with hope because perhaps this man would give her directions or help her obtain a map so she wouldn't have to rely on the Black Queen anymore...  
  
"Brian?" Freddie's hushed voice asked from behind her.  
  
The man's hazel eyes lit up in recognition. "Fred!"  
  
And just like that, Ronnie's heart deflated like a balloon as the two astonished men embraced, because _of course_ this man knew her escort! _Of course_ she wouldn't be able to find help anywhere else! It was just her luck.  
  
"Darling, whatever is that!?" Freddie asked curiously as he pulled away to get a better look at Brighton, who was still nestled in Brian's arms.  
  
"Oh," Brian said, mildly surprised as he remembered the creature and ran a gentle thumb over it's tiny cranium. "This is Brighton."  
  
"Yes, but what _is_ it?"   
  
_"He_ is a badger," Brian replied.  
  
"A badger?" Freddie asked in astonishment.  
  
Brian turned swiftly to Ronnie, his long, brown curls bouncing upon his shoulders as he did so. "Please forgive me for not introducing myself right away," he said kindly as his extended his pinky. "I'm Brian."  
  
Ronnie was about to lightly touch her pinky to his in the universally recognized greeting, but Brian caught her pinky in his and gave it a firm shake.  
  
"This," Freddie said regally with a grand gesture towards Ronnie, " is the White Queen."  
  
Ronnie raised her eyebrows at Freddie, before turning her attention back to Brian. "Actually, it's just Ronnie."  
  
Brian, still holding her pinky, leaned forward as he noticed the small tears that still clung to her eye lashes. "Is everything all right, Ronnie?"  
  
Ronnie gently unlinked her pinky from his and allowed the leaf in her fist to fall to the ground.  
  
"Everything is excellent," she said as she brushed the tiny fragments of leaf from her hands.  
  
Freddie gave her a knowing glance and she knew he had read in her mind what a blatant lie that was.  
  
Brian, not yet knowing any better, merely accepted this with a nod, before he asked Freddie in a very soft voice, "Have you found him?"  
  
Freddie looked over his shoulder, before nodding in confirmation. "I have, darling."  
  
"And did you find him before Roger did?"  
  
"Unfortunately no," Freddie said with a dramatic sigh, as he flicked his wrist to indicate that Brian should follow him.  
  
Ronnie was relieved to see that the camp was once more occupied and everyone seemed to have forgotten the awkward scene they had witnessed, including Roger, who was observing Sarina with soft eyes as she threw her head back and laughed at something a fellow traveler said.  
  
The Black Queen was several feet away, sitting upon the stump he had pushed Ronnie from and staring into the trees.  
  
"Deaky!" Brian said as he tried to naturally insert a note of surprise in his voice. "Fancy finding you here! You look...erm..."  
  
The Black Queen glanced at Brian.  
  
"...well," Brian finished uncomfortably and the Black Queen looked away.  
  
"Very smooth, darling," Freddie whispered to Brian. "Act as if you _haven't_ been searching for him as keenly as I."  
  
Roger, upon hearing Brian's familiar voice, had torn his gaze away from Sarina and stormed over. "Where did you come from!"  
  
"Yes, it's nice to see you too, Roger," Brian said tersely.   
  
"And what took you so long?" Roger demanded, ignoring Brian's remark.  
  
Brian laid protective fingers upon Brighton's soft back. "I'll have you know that I've been been ensuring the safety of the land's badger population!"  
  
"And that's no lie," Freddie muttered.  
  
"I see," Roger said in a cool voice. "While you were playing with the badgers for two years, did you find the time to choose a side?"  
  
"I told you before!" Brian said sternly. "There _are_ no sides!"  
  
"So you haven't chosen a side," Roger observed, before he scowled. "You're exhausting!"  
  
As the camp began to move forward, Ronnie turned away, thankful for the chance to remove herself from the center of the argument.  
  
\---  
  
The band of travelers reached the small town of Bijou at noon that day, just as Sarina had promised. Enlivened at the prospect of real food, conversation, and less trees, the band of travelers descended the hill eagerly.  
  
All, that is, except Deaky.  
  
"Darling, you can come with us," Freddie insisted. "Just leave your hood up and no one will be any wiser."  
  
Deaky shook his head and motioned to the trees before he disappeared into the forest, Delilah on his heels.  
  
With a sigh, Freddie turned and hurried down the hill. The White Queen was waiting for him at the bottom.  
  
"Aren't you afraid he'll run away and you'll lose him again?" she asked.  
  
"No," Freddie replied. "He hasn't forgotten that he's your map. He wouldn't just leave you here, darling."  
  
He could clearly see her mind reverberating with alarm bells at the prospect of _the Black Queen_ never leaving her alone as she turned and practically ran into the town, though he knew she had no idea where she was going.   
  
No, the poor dear was allowing her fear to propel her as far from Deaky as possible, but she only made it to the statue in the square before she faced Freddie once more.  
  
"You're fast, darling!" Freddie exclaimed as he threw himself upon the stone bench under the statue and turned his face up to the warm sun.  
  
"Ask him to draw the map out," the White Queen said in a low voice that was practically trembling. "Give him parchment and pen and ask him to draw everything he remembers, so that I can be on my way."  
  
Moving over, Freddie invitingly patted the spot on the bench next to him.  
  
The White Queen glanced at the empty seat, before ignoring the gesture and adding, _"Alone."_ As if she hadn't already made herself perfectly clear.  
  
"Even if he were able to draw it out for you, it would never be complete," Freddie commented. "Deaky was only able to look at the map in the darkness of the well so there's no doubt he missed a few details."  
  
"Then so be it!"  
  
"What if those missing details are integral to getting you where you need to be?" Freddie asked as he forgot about the sun and leaned forward. "That's why you need us, darling, so we can fill in the gaps!"  
  
The White Queen folded her arms stubbornly. "I'll ask someone for directions."  
  
Freddie leaned back and studied his finely polished fingernails. "I wouldn't recommend it, darling."  
  
"And why not?" The White Queen asked.  
  
"Oh, no reason really," Freddie said casually. "Except I've heard the Great Sickness is spreading quicker than ever before so you're going to need to be very careful who you associate with. Anyone could have it."  
  
"Like you?" The White Queen suggested.  
  
"Pfft," Freddie waved his hand. "Please, darling. I'm the Fairy Feller, I don't get ill. But my point is, with the escalation of the Great Sickness, you're going to need to avoid strangers."  
  
"You're a stranger," The White Queen pointed out.  
  
"Perhaps last night, but not anymore, my dear. I know too much."  
  
Freddie watched as the White Queen gazed up at the exquisite statue of a man standing strongly on two legs, one fist thrust into the air as he watched over the town with a confident expression.  
  
The White Queen, however, had never looked less confident.  
  
"You couldn't possibly go with the gypsies, darling," Freddie replied to her silence. "Your quest is taking you in the opposite direction."  
  
The White Queen gave him a sharp look as his remark reminded her that he knew everything she was thinking.  
  
Knowing he shouldn't but unable to stop himself, Freddie allowed himself to explore the furthest corners of her mind with every intention of dispelling her doubts.  
  
"The legends have poisoned your mind against him," he said softly. "They've planted a potent seed of fear in your heart but darling, tell me this. Has he actually harmed you?"  
  
The White Queen opened her mouth to reply.  
  
"No, he hasn't!" Freddie answered firmly for her. "He's actually saved your life _four_ times!"  
  
"When?" The White Queen asked uneasily.  
  
"As I recall, when you first met him you were dangling from a cliff," Freddie observed. "He pulled you to safety."  
  
"Before chasing me through the woods and down into a dark hole!" The White Queen retorted.  
  
"Because you ran away before he could return your map to you!"  
  
The White Queen's brow furrowed.  
  
"The second time was when you fell into the well and he threw a rope down for you to catch," Freddie continued.  
  
The White Queen's lovely face was filled with doubt.  
  
"Surely you didn't think that ropes just hang out in wells for the fun of it?" Freddie asked, unable to keep from smiling.  
  
The White Queen looked down at her feet and Freddie could see that she _had_ thought that.  
  
"I know you remember the third time very well," Freddie went on. "He caught you when you fell from that tree."  
  
Forgetting her inhibitions, the White Queen sat herself beside Freddie and exclaimed, "I wouldn't have fallen if he hadn't pulled me out of the tree to begin with!"  
  
"Yes, he pulled you from it because trees are very unsafe places to be playing with rope," Freddie said, giving her a meaningful look.  
  
The White Queen sighed, knowing she was losing this particular battle. "And the fourth time?"  
  
"This morning," Freddie said softly, "when Roger fell into Deaky and pushed him into you. You couldn't have seen it, darling, but he was able to think quickly enough to shield you with his body and ensure that he was the one who hit the tree. Not you."  
  
The White Queen allowed her eyes to travel up the statue once more.  
  
"The truth is uncomfortable, isn't it darling?"  
  
She said nothing.  
  
"I can see you don't trust him, but something inside you prevented you from ending his life yesterday morning," Freddie said quietly.  
  
"Yes, the fact that I'm not a murderer."  
  
"Quite so," Freddie agreed.  
  
Silence.  
  
"Now, darling," Freddie said reasonably. "You love books, do you not?"  
  
Clearly not able to resist a conversation about books, the White Queen looked at him with interest and Freddie mentally congratulated himself for capturing her attention.  
  
"If you found a book and the cover was ugly, would it prevent you from reading it?" Freddie asked reasonably.  
  
The White Queen thought about it for a moment. "No."  
  
"And if a friend told you a book was terrible and filled with all sorts of horrible stories, would it prevent you from reading it yourself?"  
  
Freddie watched as his meaning dawned on the White Queen and she whispered, "No."  
  
"Exactly!" Freddie said eagerly. "Think of Deaky as a book, darling! Don't judge him by his unfortunately frightening cover or by the stories you've been told. Read him for yourself and form your own opinion of him."  
  
The White Queen's eyes visibly softened and after a few long moments, she nodded.  
  
Standing, Freddie held his hand out to her and smiled when she took it.  
  
"Now, darling, bid farewell to Mister Fahrenheit the statue, because now it's time to be gone!"  
  
And so, they gathered a few provisions and made their way back to the mountainous woods. As they trudged up the hillside, Freddie smiled to himself because he could see in the White Queen's thoughts that she was taking his advice to heart.  
  
As they pulled back branches and plunged back into the forest, Freddie suddenly threw out an arm out to stop the White Queen.  
  
For kneeling there in the clearing was Deaky and Sarina and Freddie figured they should not be disturbed because Sarina was performing what looked like a very important chiromancy. He watched with fascination as Sarina held Deaky's right hand and traced the lines of his palm with her forefinger.  
  
After a careful study, she whispered something to him, before placing her hand on his shoulder with a reassuring smile. And then, after giving Delilah a farewell scratch behind the ears, she rose gracefully to her feet.  
  
\---  
  
Ronnie knew her eyes were brimming with unspoken questions as Sarina came forward and grasped her hands.  
  
"I've just read his palm," she whispered. "And his intentions are pure."  
  
Ronnie looked over Sarina's shoulder, where the Black Queen was still on his knees amidst the leaves and twigs. He lifted his face and stared straight ahead as his voice filled her mind.  
  
 _When your plans go wrong and you turn out the light_  
 _But inside of your mind you have to put up a fight_  
  
Ronnie closed her eyes momentarily. Apparently the Black Queen could see right through her because that was exactly what she was doing. He could see how losing her map (and as a result, her way) had discouraged her, how her mind fought him tooth and nail at every turn.  
  
"You have nothing to fear from him," Sarina added.  
  
When Ronnie opened her eyes, the Black Queen was staring directly at her.  
  
 _Let me take your hand_  
 _Let me be your guide_  
  
Ronnie glanced at Sarina, who gave her an encouraging smile, before she looked back at the Black Queen and nodded her assent, though she hid her hands behind her back.  
  
\---  
  
"Brighton? _Brighton!"_  
  
As Brian worriedly poked around the camp that evening, Freddie observed Delilah, who was sprawled comfortably on the ground, licking her lips.  
  
With a gasp, he leapt to his feet. _"Delilah!_ Spit him out this instant!"  
  
As Brian spun around with a horrified expression and Ronnie's heart sunk down to her toes, Brighton hobbled out from behind a tree and squeaked.  
  
Delilah let out an indignant growl as Brian picked the badger up and began speaking to him soothingly.  
  
"I'm sorry, darling," Freddie said as he knelt beside Delilah and stroked her head. "That was terribly unfair of me. But you must stop looking so guilty all the time!"  
  
As relief spread through Ronnie's chest, she watched with a small smile as Brian sat down on an overturned log and Brighton made himself extremely comfortable in his lap.  
  
Glancing up and noticing Ronnie's soft expression, Brian smiled in return and said, "I found Brighton when he was just a wee baby. His leg was broken, poor thing, and his family was nowhere to be found, so I nursed him back to health."  
  
"How very considerate of you, darling," Freddie complimented him as Delilah gave in to his soft touch and rolled onto her back - a prime position for belly rubs.  
  
"I tried to introduce him back into the wild but..." Brian shrugged. "He wasn't having it and so here we are."  
  
"I think it's lovely that you're his family now," Ronnie said wholeheartedly.  
  
Brian beamed, but Ronnie's smile slipped away as a shadow fell over her. Looking up, she saw the Black Queen towering over her.  
  
She felt herself instinctively titling backward on her stump as he knelt beside her, so that he was at eye level with her, and held out his hand.  
  
Careful to avoid his white gaze, Ronnie leaned forward to see what he was trying to offer her.  
  
Resting in the palm of the Black Queen's hand was a leaf.  
  
Ronnie slowly reached out, her eyes widening in surprise when she saw the leaf was almost identical to the one she had tried to obtain that very morning. As she cradled it in her hands, she almost forgot her fear and looked directly into his white eyes.  
  
"Thank you," she whispered.  
  
The Black Queen blinked in...  
  
_No,_ Ronnie corrected herself, _Freddie said to call him Deaky...  
_  
 _Deaky_ blinked in surprise, likely because she hadn't run away in terror, before nodding and taking a seat a few feet away.  
  
From the other side of the fire, Freddie looked at Roger suspiciously and asked, "Are you sure you know what you're doing, darling?"   
  
Roger looked up from a black pot over the fire. "Of course I know what I'm _doing!"_  
  
Brian shook his head in exasperation and Ronnie grinned. Roger had _insisted_ on preparing supper and had refused all offers of help, though Freddie had whispered to her that he'd never seen Roger successfully prepare a meal.  
  
"Perhaps he's just trying to distract himself," Brian whispered to Freddie. "He's been rather sullen since we parted ways with Sarina, hasn't he?"  
  
The corner of Freddie's mouth twitched into a smile, before he peeked over the rim of Roger's pot. "Stew. How very rugged of you, darling."  
  
Looking rather pleased with himself, Roger returned to the important business of stirring the pot's contents as Brian pulled a object from behind the log he was sitting on.   
  
Ronnie's eyes widened as she found herself staring at a white skull, it's crevices graying with age. A long bone stretched out from it's head, forming the neck of what appeared to be a makeshift guitar.  
  
Brian mournfully plucked at the few strings that stretched from the skull's teeth, over the nasal bones and empty eye sockets, and all the way up to the very tip of the long bone.   
  
"What's that?" Ronnie whispered in awe.  
  
"This was once the Red Special," Brian said as he patted the skull fondly. "The greatest guitar in the land until..." He glanced at the Black Que-  
  
 _Deaky,_ Ronnie reminded herself firmly.  
  
Brian glanced at _Deaky,_ who appeared to be folding in to himself as his shoulders slumped forward and he tucked his hands into his lap, staring at the ground.   
  
Freddie put a steady hand on Deaky's knee as he explained to Ronnie, "Brian's guitar was transformed into the skull you see now at the Ogre Battle. Ever since that time, Brian has not been able to play it."  
  
Brian aimed a look of gratitude at Freddie, relieved that he had been able to explain it tactfully without stirring up too many terrible memories. "It's impossible to play. I can pluck at the strings but the sound that results is never very pretty."  
  
Roger looked up from spooning the stew into small wooden bowls. "I told you to find another guitar."  
  
Brian frowned at Roger, before he addressed Ronnie. "Well you see, that's my curse. If I pick up any other instruments, I simply forget how to play. I've lost my musicality."  
  
 _Did you forget that when you were cursed, we were all cursed, too?  
_  
Ronnie shook her head to banish the memory of Freddie's remark to Deaky from her mind so that she could try and put the pieces of this strange puzzle together. So on the eve of the Ogre Battle, Deaky had been cursed as the Black Queen. Freddie had been cursed with the ability to read minds. Brian had been cursed with the loss of his beloved guitar and his musical capacity.   
  
As Roger handed everyone a bowl, Ronnie found herself wondering once more what his particular curse was. Perhaps it was revenge? That certainly seemed like a curse to her, it sounded absolutely _exhausting,_ and though she was terribly curious, she didn't ask about what had transpired at the Ogre Battle. Deaky already looked uncomfortable enough as it was.  
  
His discomfort only intensified as he looked up from his bowl to find Roger watching him with a positively evil smile.  
  
"Roger!" Freddie said sternly. "Don't tell me you offered to prepare supper so you could poison Deaky's meal!"  
  
Roger adorned his most insulted expression. "Excuse me! Glad to know you think so _highly_ of me, Freddie!"  
  
"Well, you did try to have him executed, darling," Freddie retorted.  
  
"You did _what?"_ Brian exclaimed.  
  
"And rightfully so!" Roger fumed.  
  
"Darling, he was your friend!" Freddie argued passionately. "He was practically your brother! Would you really kill your own brother?"  
  
"I don't know!" Roger flung back. "Why don't you read my mind and find out?"  
  
"You want to know what I love?" Brian said casually to Ronnie. "A nice awkward dinner conversation."  
  
"Quite so," Freddie agreed, not taking his eyes off Roger. "Builds character."  
  
Deaky looked down into his bowl of allegedly poisoned food, before setting it aside.  
  
Something about the gesture made Ronnie terribly sad. If Freddie's words from earlier were true and if Freddie could be trusted, then this poor soul sitting beside her had been mysteriously cursed and had run away from his friends - one of whom was trying to kill him - and yet he was trying to rise above his situation and help her.   
  
She hadn't thanked him vocally for saving her those four times (if, as Freddie said, that's what had actually occurred) but perhaps he could be thanked in a different way.  
  
Rising from her stump, she knelt before Deaky and offered him her bowl.  
  
A stunned silence fell over the little campsite, broken only by the flickering of the flames of the fire. Ronnie was close enough to see Deaky's silver irises again and as he looked up at her, saw astonishment dancing in his eyes and - was that the tiniest glimpse of hope lurking there in the whiteness?  
  
"Darling?" Freddie asked softly in surprise.  
  
Ronnie didn't take her eyes off Deaky's. "I figured my stew is safe. At least, I _hope_ Roger wouldn't poison me."  
  
Roger let out a disgruntled _harumph._  
  
Slowly, so very slowly, as if he feared she would shrink away from him if he made any sudden movements, Deaky accepted the the bowl and just as slowly, the corner of his mouth lifted in gratitude.  
  
 _So he is capable of smiling,_ Ronnie thought to herself as she returned the smile and settled back onto her stump.  
  
"There is no poison, is there?" Brian said suddenly to Roger. "You're just trying to torment him into believing there is!"  
  
"You mean to say Roger is trying to starve him?" Freddie asked with borderline outrage.  
  
Roger ignored Freddie and hissed at Brian, "So you _have_ chosen a side! You've chosen Freddie and the Black Queen over _me!"  
_  
Delilah let out a ferocious growl. Brighton burrowed his little head into Brian's armpit.  
  
"If you'd stop being so _stubborn_ you'd see that there is no _need_ for sides, Roger!" Brian exclaimed.  
  
Roger opened his mouth to argue but Ronnie, having had quite enough, leapt to her feet.  
  
"Stop it!" she cried out.  
  
Four pairs of astonished eyes gazed up at her.  
  
"Honestly!" she scolded them, feeling very much like she was admonishing her schoolchildren. "If you are to travel with me all the way to the Virgin Forest, then there will be no bickering, no fighting, and absolutely no murder!"  
  
"Virgin Forest?" Roger asked with interest. "Is that where we're going? Excellent!"  
  
"You know as well as I that they'd kick you out immediately, darling," Freddie muttered.  
  
Roger, by that point, had completely forgotten his quarrel with Brian. "Truly? Is that what happens when a nonvirgin tries to enter the Virgin Forest?"  
  
"Well I don't know for certain," Freddie admitted, "but I'm assuming that yes, they'd throw you out on your arse." He turned curiously to Ronnie. "Why do you need to venture all the way to the Virgin Forest, darling?"  
  
Ronnie sat back down on her stump and blushed furiously, realizing that she had unintentionally revealed the level of her sexual experience to the four men she was traveling with.  
  
"It's the climax of the entire journey," she began, but stopped when Roger burst out laughing.  
  
Brian glared at him.  
  
"That was a rather clever sexual innuendo," Freddie agreed as he tried not to smile.   
  
Ronnie dropped her face into her right hand as embarrassment gnawed uncomfortably at her insides. She couldn't bring herself to look at her traveling companions again until she felt soft fingers gently touching her left hand, which was nestled in her lap.  
  
Slowly lifting her gaze, she saw Deaky leaning over from his respective stump, his hand over hers.  
  
 _Don't take it all to heart_

And he shot a look at Roger and Freddie.  
  
Ronnie felt her hand tingle with warmth and she was almost disappointed when Deaky released her fingers and sat up straight.  
  
But she took strength from his gesture and tried again. "It's the _point_ of the entire journey. Yes, it's filled with tasks that I need to complete along the way to prepare me to be a good wife and mother and a well-rounded human being in general, but the journey culminates at the V-virgin Forest, where I'll pick a v-virgin flower and present it to my fiance when I return home."  
  
Deaky's fingers twitched suddenly and Freddie glanced at him in concern but it happened so fast, Ronnie thought it may have just been her imagination.  
  
Brian looked at Ronnie sadly. "The Virgin Forest? Is that how they scare young girls in your village into saving themselves until marriage?"  
  
Ronnie clasped her hands together, finding it difficult to look anyone in the eye. "I don't know. I never questioned it."  
  
"Talk about awkward dinner conversation!" Roger said with glee.  
  
"Sex and murder!" Freddie exclaimed, equally delighted.  
  
Brian was still frowning. "Ronnie, I understand this is your coming of age journey but...aren't you a bit young for this?"  
  
Ronnie sighed. "No. I'm actually too _old._ I should have taken this journey three years ago when I was eighteen."  
  
Uncomfortable memories washed over her, bringing all of her thunderous thoughts to the very surface of her mind. She was much too tired to hide them from Freddie and so she allowed him to witness each and every one.  
  
Like how she should have been happily married and borne at least one child in the past three years. But as a teenager she had been so painfully shy, not to mention fastidious in her choice of men thanks to the many love stories she had consumed over the years, and she had simply never found a boyfriend, a fiance, a husband.  
  
Until one day, Valentino had swept her off her feet...once and only once and probably by accident but, hoping it was true love, she had stayed by his side, knowing she should feel lucky that any man was interested in her at all.  
  
But a year and a half went by and he never swept her off her feet again. In fact, it took him that entire length of time to make his halfhearted proposal to her.   
  
_You and me, Veronica,_ he had said, very informally. _How 'bout it?  
  
_ He hadn't gotten down on one knee, he hadn't taken her hand in his. The ring had come a month later.  
  
And considering there was no other available men in her village and considering that her parents were extremely worried about her future, she had said yes and made preparations for her journey.  
  
Because she couldn't bear to be Veronica, the village spinster, any longer. Veronica, the chaste schoolteacher. Veronica, the twenty-one year old virgin.  
  
Tentatively, Ronnie looked up at Freddie and saw her thoughts reflected in his lovely brown eyes, which were radiating a kind sympathy.   
  
Brian couldn't see her thoughts like Freddie could, but his expression wasn't any less kind. "Perhaps we should call it a night."  
  
Roger stretched his arms over his head and yawned. "Good idea for once, Bri."  
  
"Freddie and I are going to take turns keeping watch," Brian added flatly to Roger. "To make sure you don't kill Deaky in his sleep."  
  
Deaky shook his head adamantly in protest, before Freddie gently pushed him down to the ground. "You need sleep more than any of us, darling. Or have you forgotten that you pulled a most spectacular all nighter last night?"  
  
\---  
  
At the break of dawn the next morning, Brian gently woke Ronnie. Though the boys had kindly told her that she didn't need to take a turn keeping watch, she had insisted. It was, after all, only fair.   
  
As Brian made himself comfortable and fell asleep almost instantly, Ronnie wrapped herself in her cloak and warmed her hands by the fire that Brian had thoughtfully stoked. With Brighton curled comfortably in her lap, she felt a sense of well being in her heart that she hadn't felt since she had left her village.  
  
She inadvertently glanced at Deaky, who was curled on his side, his eyes closed and his arms wrapped around himself, as if he could protect himself from Roger even in his dreams. In sleep, he almost looked ordinary, apart from the pallor of his skin, the darkness of his features, and the crown of thorns he never removed. It was his eyes, those startling white eyes, that truly lent him an air of terror.  
  
Shaking her fearful thoughts away, Ronnie reached into her bag and pulled out _Grimms' Fairy Tales._ Opening the book, she took the leaf that Deaky had given her the night before and pressed it gently between the pages.  
  
When she looked up again, Deaky's eyes were open. As they glowed softly in the early morning light, the old familiar fear made her chest tighten and she looked away.  
  
But then she reminded herself that he had saved her from falling four times, and had gone to all the trouble of finding a leaf that was identical to the one she had wanted so badly, and had comforted her amidst the sex jokes around the fire the night before.  
  
And therefore, he didn't deserve her fear, did he? He didn't deserve to not be looked in the eye.  
  
Ronnie forced herself to meet his gaze and hoped, that in time, he would truly transform into Deaky in her mind.  
  
She hoped that one day, the Black Queen would take her fear by the hand and they'd gradually fade away together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dying to know what you all think and if this all still makes sense! Also, I know there's a lot of conversation in this chapter, but I promise it's important background information! :)
> 
> Thank you, truly, for reading. <3


	5. Chapter 5

A few days later, after the band of travelers had stopped for a rest, Ronnie followed the sound of rushing water down to a river.  
  
She was looking forward to sitting on the riverbank in comfortable silence, perhaps even dipping her toes in the water, but two figures at the waterline showed her that spot was already taken. 

Preparing to turn around, the sight of a bruised torso, along with a familiar crown of thorns, caught her attention and Ronnie found herself creeping forward as quietly as she could and crouching low behind a tree.  
  
Peeking around the trunk, she was surprised to see Deaky ( _not_ the Black Queen, she reminded herself sternly) with his shirt off and arms raised in the air as Freddie knelt before him and inspected the dark purple and red bruises that danced down the right side of Deaky's body, from his armpit to his hip and disappearing under the black leather pants that he wore.  
  
Horrified, Ronnie covered her mouth with her hand. Had he acquired those nasty bruises a few days before, when he had accidentally knocked her from her stump and wrapped her in a safe embrace so that he could hit the tree in her place?  
  
Freddie poked a particularly large, dark bruise and Deaky flinched in pain.

Unable to look away, Ronnie flattened her palms against the tree and leaned forward, her eyes roaming over his body and taking in every welt. Seeing him like this, without his black cloak and the strange red wrappings that usually adorned his arms and torso, he almost seemed like...just a man.  
  
"All right there, Ronnie?"  
  
Ronnie jumped at the unexpected voice and looking over her shoulder, saw Brian staring down at her, his head tilted slightly in concern.  
  
"Y-yes," Ronnie said quickly as she stood and moved away from the shelter of the tree. "I was just...taking a rest, is all."  
  
She was thankful Brian couldn't read minds like Freddie could.  
  
Brian accepted her explanation without question and held out a familiar piece of parchment to her. "I've been looking at your list of tasks and I was thinking that tonight, perhaps we could see the show. We're very close to the city of Alley Way and they have a very nice theater there."  
  
Ronnie smiled in agreement and, following Brian up the hillside, fought back the urge to look back at the riverbank.  
  
If she had looked back, she would have seen a pair of white eyes watching her go.  
  
\---  
  
Brian smiled down at Ronnie as she sat on the edge of her seat and gripped her program in anticipation. She had told him she'd never seen a show before and her excitement was palpable as the lights in the theater dimmed.  
  
Turning his attention back to the stage, Brian felt the smile slip off his face as a dusty red curtain opened and revealed a beautiful woman with bright blue eyes and shoulder length red hair.  
  
 _It can't be,_ he thought to himself. _Surely not..._  
  
But as she ran slim fingers down her dark blue gown, opened lips that were as red as cherries, and addressed the crowd with a voice that was ringing with confidence, he knew it was undeniably her.  
  
 _Anita._  
  
She was as beautiful as ever and Brian found himself captivated, more so by her than by the actual storyline. And when the curtain fell after the very last bow, he leapt to his feet with the rest of the audience to give her a standing ovation.  
  
His first thought as the house lights came back on was how much he wanted to find her, how lovely it would be to say hello. He turned to his right to suggest this to Ronnie, only to find she had slumped back into her seat while staring at the stage with a far off gaze.  
  
Brian gently touched her shoulder. "Did you enjoy the show?"  
  
Ronnie shook herself out of her daze and offered him a small smile. "Yes."  
  
But Brian could see the smile didn't exactly reach her eyes.  
  
"Come," he said softly as he extended his hand, "and I'll take you back to the campsite."  
  
Ronnie stared at his hand, before patting it gently and standing without his assistance. "I can go myself. You should stay in the city a little longer, while there's still light. According to Freddie, we won't see much civilization on this journey."  
  
Brian opened his mouth to argue but Ronnie hurried away and out the door before he could protest.  
  
As he walked thoughtfully up the aisle, he wondered what had caused Ronnie's sudden melancholy. Perhaps she _hadn't_ enjoyed the show...  
  
Stepping outside, Brian circled the theater and bumped directly into Roger.  
  
Brian blinked, surprised to find Roger meandering around the artsy district. "Isn't the whorehouse on the other side of the city?" 

Roger scowled. "I'll have you know that I was on my way to learn about _chiromancy_ , Brian!"  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"Palm reading!" Roger exclaimed. "It's very interesting, you know!"  
  
Brian raised his eyebrows as Roger stormed away, before a smile spread across his face. There was no doubt in his mind that Roger's sudden interest in palm reading, and total disinterest in the company of voluptuous females, was all because of a sweet gypsy named Sarina.  
  
Approaching the stage door, which was already partially opened, Brian raised his fist to knock. Raised voices made him hesitate.  
  
"Sammy, please!" A female voice pleaded and Brian's hearty grew heavy with recognition.  
  
"Anita, there's nothing I can do! It's just the way things are."  
  
"But surely..." Anita began.  
  
"No!" Sammy exclaimed. "You know as well as I that it would be financial suicide to keep the theater open with the Great Sickness spreading in our direction! Everyone is going to either shut themselves up in their houses or leave the city - no one is going to go out to see a show!"  
  
"But perhaps I could..." Anita suggested.  
  
"Do what?" Sammy challenged. "Ain't no beauty queens in _this_ locality!"  
  
Silence. Brian folded his arms against his chest and waited.  
  
Sammy's voice softened. "Here, take this. It's your share of earnings from tonight's show. That's all I have to offer you, plus a bit of advice."  
  
"Yes?" Anita asked quietly.  
  
"Leave. Go to the next city and see if they're looking for an actress. And if they're not, go to another city and try again. You're immensely talented, Anita. You'll find work again."  
  
After a few moments of halfhearted small talk, the stage door opened fully and Brian stepped back quickly, running a hand through his dark curls and pretending to be very interested in something on the ground.  
  
"Brian?" Anita whispered.  
  
Brian looked up and felt his heart contract painfully as he observed Anita's red nose, tear-filled eyes, and resolute frown. She was clutching a white envelope.  
  
"Anita! I..." Brian glanced around for a casual explanation as to why he was there, before deciding the truth would be best.  
  
"I saw the show and thought I'd come say hello," he admitted softly. "You were wonderful."  
  
Anita's lips curled into a tiny, almost nonexistent smile. "That's kind of you."  
  
"Is everything all right?" Brian asked, unable to keep the concern out of his voice.  
  
Anita gazed up at him, perhaps wondering if she really wanted to unburden herself to him, before looking over her shoulder at the stage door. Making up her mind rather quickly, she took Brian by the arm and led him into the street.  
  
"The Great Sickness is coming," she said in a hushed voice and Brian was surprised at how tired she sounded. She released her hold on him, but Brian caught her hand and tucked it back into the crook of his arm as they strolled down the cobblestone lane.  
  
"Which means," Anita continued sadly, "that the theater is closing and I'm out of a job."  
  
"What do you plan to do?" Brian asked.  
  
Anita shrugged. "There's not much I can do except move on."  
  
Brian turned to her suddenly. "Come with me."  
  
Anita's eyes widened. "What?"  
  
"I mean," Brian cleared his throat. "Come with _us."  
_  
"The band is here?" Anita asked, her voice softening with fondness.  
  
"Yes," Brian said enthusiastically. "We're escorting a young schoolteacher to the Seven Seas of Rhye and I'm certain we will pass a few cities. You're welcome to travel with us until you find one that can offer you work."  
  
Anita tilted her head as she studied him and Brian didn't bother to hide the hope he knew was written all over his face.  
  
"All right then," she agreed and her smile made Brian's heart rise.  
  
"But Anita," he said quietly. 'There's something you should know about Deaky..."  
  
\---  
  
When Ronnie came to the tall white birch in the woods, she didn't take a left to return to the campsite, like she should have. Instead, she took a right and followed the sound of water down a dark, leaf-strewn path until she came upon a river.  
  
Pulling her list out of her pocket, she ran her thumb over her most recently accomplished task.  
  
 _See a stage show about love so you'll recognize every marriage is different and respect the fact that every love story is unique._  
  
Ronnie's upper lip curled in disdain. Yes, every love story certainly was unique, wasn't it? Including her own! Unique in the fact that the love in her relationship was so small you needed a magnifying glass to see it!  
  
Ronnie fell to her knees on the riverbank and stared at her reflection in the light of the setting sun. The wind was blowing gentle waves across the river, but the ripples of water didn't hide her heartbroken expression or her trembling lower lip.  
  
The red-haired woman in the show had thought she would never find love but a kind and gentle man had shown her differently. Of course, that was the simple version of it, there had been plenty of twists, turns, and forks in the road, but what had transpired on that stage was what Ronnie had longed for in a relationship for so long. It was the kind of love she had been desperately searching for, for so many years.  
  
The entire point of seeing the show had been to remind herself that she shouldn't be comparing her relationship to others, but the show had brought to the surface a particularly heart wrenching fact that she had been trying to ignore for an entire year and a half.  
  
Valentino had never voluntarily shown her any sign of _true_ love. And that hurt, but perhaps what hurt the most was the fact that she had embarked on this entire journey for _him._ The village could dress it up any way they liked and call it a coming of age journey, but the truth was, without a fiance, she wouldn't be here in the woods. And she was braving the wilderness, and the Black Queen, and tigers and falls from high places and the Great Sickness...  
  
...all in order to bring home a flower to a man who had never even said I love you.  
  
The river accepted the tear that suddenly fell from Ronnie's eye into it's watery depths and welcomed it as its own. As she fell onto her left hip, she pressed her list of tasks to her heart and, nearly choking on the lump in her throat, warned herself not to cry.  
  
After all, she was certain Valentino had never cried for her.  
  
Ronnie wasn't sure how long she had sat there with a burning throat filled with unshed tears, but at some point, she felt a presence. Glancing to her left, she found Deaky sitting in a comfortable cross-legged position beside her as he observed the pale, white moon rising into a navy blue sky.  
  
Deciding she really didn't mind the company, Ronnie dropped her gaze back into the river.  
  
After a few long moments, she felt a gentle touch on her hand. Looking down, she watched as Deaky uncurled her fingers, which had tightened into fists and crushed her list of tasks. Taking the crumpled paper into his hands, he smoothed it out carefully and placed it safely out of her reach.  
  
Ronnie's heart tightened as she looked helplessly up at him and, ignoring the white portion of his eyes, she concentrated on his irises, which were as silver as the moon itself. She opened her mouth because she wanted to talk to someone but at the same time, she didn't want anyone to know what a fool she was for doing this perilous journey for someone who hadn't even properly kissed her goodbye.  
  
Yet she didn't have to say anything. Deaky merely put a hand on her back and turned her back to the river. By now, the surface was quite calm and the light of the moon cast an eerie glow around her face.  
  
Deaky's soft voice wrapped itself around her. _Take a look at yourself in the mirror and cry...  
_  
Ronnie did as he asked and, digging her fingers into the riverbank, allowed two tears to drop into the water.  
  
\---  
  
Anita sighed as she turned away from the landlord and tucked the white envelope into her traveling bag. Approximately seventy-five percent of her earnings from that night's show had gone towards paying off her rent and what was left would be just enough for food until she was able to find work.  
  
 _If_ she was able to find work.  
  
As she stepped out of the brightly lit building and into the cool darkness of the night, an unsteady hand reached out to her.  
  
"Lucy?" Anita asked as she squinted at the black haired actress before her. "Are you...high?"  
  
Lucy giggled darkly. "Maybe."  
  
Anita rolled her eyes and pushed Lucy towards the building. "Back in you go then."  
  
"Wait!" Lucy said suddenly as she placed a small book in Anita's hand. "Before you go, I wanted to give you this."  
  
The light filtering from the windows of nearby buildings allowed Anita to examine the red leather cover. Printed in black lettering were the words _Guide to Prostitution.  
  
_ Anita raised her eyebrows. Lucy really was high, wasn't she?  
  
"That's very...er...kind of you," Anita said, as she tried to hand the book back. "But I won't need this and neither will you."  
  
"Oh yes, we will," Lucy protested as she pushed the book back towards Anita and continued speaking in a voice that suddenly didn't sound high at all. "Anita, there is a very good chance that, with the Great Sickness spreading like wildfire, we won't find work as actresses. And if that happens, we need to be prepared."  
  
"This is your plan B?" Anita asked incredulously as she held the small book up.  
  
"Everything else will close and everyone will lose their jobs," Lucy said matter-of-factly. "But whores will always be able to find work. Mark my words, Anita, and hold onto the book just in case."  
  
Anita shook her head as she gave her fellow actress a farewell hug. "All right, but it won't come to that."  
  
Brian was waiting for her under a streetlamp in front of the theater. As Anita approached he smiled at her and nodded towards her hand. "What do you have there?"  
  
Anita's cheeks burned as she tucked _Guide to Prostitution_ into her bag. "Oh, just a bit of unnecessary reading, is all."  
  
As Brian lead her out of the city and into the woods, she threw one last mournful glance at the theater.  
  
\---  
  
Freddie shook his head sadly as he watched Deaky and the White Queen from his safe hiding spot behind a feathery bush. He had heard Deaky's words in the air...  
  
 _Take a look at yourself in the mirror and cry..._  
  
...and knew he was encouraging her to let her feelings out by virtue of tears and with the way her head was bowed, it looked like she had taken his advice, the poor dear. As she leaned over the river, her hair covering her face, he kept a hand on her back and stared up at the moon, though Freddie could see in his friend's mind that he wanted to do so much more to comfort her.  
  
After awhile, the White Queen sniffed, brushed her long hair back over her shoulder, and offered Deaky a smile, before she picked a piece of parchment off the ground, got to her feet, and walked back towards the woods. Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, Freddie plucked Brighton (who he had agreed to babysit) off his shoulder and cradling the small badger against his chest, he hurried back to the campsite by an alternative route. He fell down onto an overturned log by the fire just as Ronnie was emerging into the clearing.  
  
"White Queen!" Freddie said breathlessly in greeting.  
  
The White Queen gave him a look that was stern, yet kind.  
  
"If I'm to call him Deaky instead of the Black Queen," she said, "then you are to call me Ronnie."  
  
Freddie nodded. "If you wish it, White Queen."  
  
She sat down beside him and stared into the flames as they shared a companionable silence. Freddie allowed himself the luxury of hindsight as he went over the events of the past week and admired how far they had come since then - and he wasn't talking about just distance.  
  
The White Queen...  
  
Oh, for Heaven's Sake.   
  
_Ronnie's_ voice interrupted his revelations. "What's his real name?"  
  
Freddie glanced at her. "Curious, are we?"  
  
Ronnie tore her gaze away from the fire. "Well, Deaky sounds more like a nickname, if you ask me."  
  
"Indeed it is, darling," Freddie confirmed, before the corner of his mouth lifted in a small smile. "His name is John."  
  
\---  
  
A few more weeks passed by peacefully as the travelers journeyed out of September and into October, as well as out of the northwest and into the general north. Ronnie felt her fear of the Black Queen (who she had started calling _John_ in her mind) gradually subsiding, until one night, when it came flaming back.  
  
Quite literally.  
  
Ronnie's frustration had steadily been growing throughout the evening as she held two rough sticks in her hand and tried to conjure up a fire in order to complete her next task.  
  
 _Build yourself a shelter and start a fire the old-fashioned way, for only by learning to provide shelter and warmth for yourself will you be able to provide shelter and warmth for your own family._  
  
She had succeeded in building the shelter out of sticks and bramble the week before, but had not yet been able to start a fire without the assistance of Brian, who was now kneeling beside her and instructing her patiently.  
  
"Yes, that's it, just keep rubbing the sticks together. Briskly now, we must create enough friction..."  
  
Ronnie straightened up, loosened her grip on the sticks, and blew a stray piece of hair out of her face. "It's impossible."  
  
"Nonsense, darling!" Freddie exclaimed encouragingly from his stump. "Nothing is impossible!"  
  
"It just takes practice, that's all," Brian said kindly, as he took Ronnie's hands and repositioned the sticks in the correct way.  
  
With a sigh, Ronnie bent back to her task, but not before a strange sight caught her attention.   
  
John was sitting fifteen feet away, staring at the sticks in her hand as Roger leaned against a tree behind him and whispered something into the air. For the most part, the two ex-friends avoided each other, except when that strange look came into Roger's eye and he felt the urge to torment John. Like now, Ronnie guessed.  
  
She couldn't make out what he was saying, but it couldn't have been pleasant because John's face was fixed in a frown and his fingers were restless.  
  
As she continued to rub the sticks together, Ronnie raised her eyes from John's hands to Roger's face. Catching her eye, Roger smirked and said in a scathing voice, "Mesmerize you when he's tongue-tied, simply with _those eyes."_  
  
Ronnie unconsciously began to grind the sticks against each other harder as her eyes drifted to John's unnerving white gaze, though he didn't take his eyes off the sticks in her hands. His upper lip twitched.  
  
"Yes!" Brian murmured, satisfaction evident in his tone. "A spark! You're almost there, Ronnie!"  
  
"Synchronize your minds and see the beast within him rise!" Roger said loudly.  
  
At the same time, the air around Ronnie grew thick with vibrations, just like right before John had set her map aflame all those weeks ago. She watched as the whites of John's eyes glowing brightly and the pupils burned red.  
  
And then all she saw was fire as someone pushed her out of the way.  
  
\---  
  
Luckily, Brian had been watching Deaky and Roger out of the corner of his eye and so, when the spark Ronnie had created with her two sticks suddenly exploded into a blaze of powerful orange flames, he was quick enough to hook an arm around her waist and toss her as gently as he could out of the way.  
  
The flames reached hot fingers up into the night sky before John's eyes returned to their normal white and the fire died down to what a regular campfire should be.  
  
"Well, there you have it," Freddie said as he blinked in surprise. "I suppose you can check it off your list now, darling."  
  
But Ronnie didn't seem to hear him. Sprawled a feet feet away on her belly with her fingers clutching tufts of cool grass, Ronnie was coughing violently (from inhaling the smoky flames, Brian guessed). A faint smell of burnt hair filled the air and Brian figured that Ronnie's eyebrows had been slightly singed, along with the ends of her hair, though you couldn't tell by looking at her.  
  
Deaky had rushed to her and although he was hesitant to actually touch her, he dropped to his knees and stretched his fingers out on the grass near hers - an apology of sorts, Brian thought sadly, in case she should choose to grasp his hand in forgiveness.  
  
Though that seemed unlikely, as Ronnie pushed herself up to her hands and knees and stared at him in horror as she covered her mouth with her hand and continued to cough.  
  
It was painfully clear to all of them what had just happened.  
  
Roger had provoked Deaky with his words and Deaky, having had absolutely no one to teach him how to control his magic, had unwittingly allowed his volatile emotions to take hold of that magic and turn Ronnie's spark into a conflagration.  
  
A complete accident of course, but a dangerous mistake nonetheless. And Brian could see that Ronnie, who had been trying so hard to trust Deaky for the past few weeks, was deeply unsettled.  
  
Deaky's face was filled with regret as he leaned forward and opened his mouth, before remembering that all he had succeeded in doing was exposing fanged teeth. There were no words he could utter and Brian knew that he was having a difficult time finding suitable apologetic song lyrics to inject into her mind.  
  
And so he closed his mouth and stared at Ronnie helplessly as he crawled towards her, no doubt wishing to ease her suffering in some way, but Ronnie fell onto her side and crawled backward away from him as her eyes watered and she wheezed.  
  
Later, Freddie would tell Brian that her mind had been filled with terror, fueled by thoughts of Deaky's sharp teeth and _those eyes_ that had glowed red so unexpectedly and death by fire.  
  
Anita rushed to Ronnie's side with a flask of water and was forcing her to drink it as Deaky remained on his knees a few feet away, watching over Ronnie and trying not to drown in his own despair.  
  
Brian grasped Roger's shirt, furious that Ronnie's fear of Deaky had shrunk to a mere spark until Roger's words had ignited it into a fire very much like the one that had almost burned her! He felt Freddie place a hand over his own.   
  
Untangling Brian's fingers from the rough linen of Roger's shirt, Freddie flattened the guitarist's hand against Roger's heart.   
  
"I know he's cursed and he can't entirely help it," Brian said in a low, angry voice, "but he could have seriously harmed her!"  
  
"He doesn't need us to tell him that, darling," Freddie said solemnly. "If you look into his eyes, I think you'll find he knows he went too far this time."  
  
Brian did as Freddie suggested and sure enough, Roger's eyes were brimming with guilt with a touch of fear. The trio didn't have a moment to say anything more, however, because their attention was drawn to a sudden movement on the ground.  
  
Deaky had gotten to his feet as Ronnie's coughing fit subsided, and crouched down beside her as he placed his hand lightly on her back. It was a gesture of solace on his part and he was clearly hoping fervently that she'd still trust him even after the danger he had just put her in.  
  
As Ronnie's chest heaved up and down and adrenaline continued to rush through her veins, the face she turned up to Deaky was a mask of terrified disbelief. And then, not able to keep the mask on for a moment longer, she let her face fall as she buried it in Anita's shoulder and her trust in Deaky fell to pieces all around her.  
  
\---   
  
As Deaky scrambled to a standing position and ran into the woods, Freddie followed, charging after his dear friend through the dark forest, winding around trees and tramping over flattened brush, until they reached a sandy beach. Freddie braced himself against a tree in order to catch his breath as Deaky sat himself in the sand and buried his face in his hands.  
  
Deaky's anguished thoughts flew at Freddie, who actually ducked for a moment because it was as if he were under attack and being pelted with everything Deaky was thinking and feeling and oh, how it hurt!   
  
Straightening up, Freddie aimed an infuriated leer at the sky, towards Trident wherever he roamed, because this is _exactly_ why reading minds was a curse.  
  
"Darling!" Freddie exclaimed as he approached Deaky. "I've spent the past few weeks trying to convince her that you _haven't_ harmed her and then..."  
  
He shut his mouth quickly as Deaky lowered one hand to the sand as an aid to twist his body away from Freddie, while keeping the other hand over his eyes.  
  
"I'm sorry, Deaky," Freddie said, softening his voice. "I know it's not your fault."  
  
He settled himself upon the sand and put a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "I see your struggle clearly. You wish to run but you can't bring yourself to leave her. Very noble of you, my dear."  
  
Deaky dropped his hand from his face and turned back toward Freddie, just ever so slightly.  
  
"What did Roger say to upset you so?" Freddie asked curiously and as Deaky bowed his head, Freddie read in his mind that Roger had told him to give up because a girl like Ronnie would never trust him enough to save a reject like him.  
  
"Darling, we are _all_ rejects in our own special way," Freddie pointed out helpfully. "Don't you pay him any mind. I firmly believe that the White Queen - er, _Ronnie_ \- is the one who will release you from Trident's curse."  
  
Deaky shook his head as he gazed out over the small pond.  
  
"Yes, I know she has a fiance, darling, and we didn't count on that but what you don't know is that..." Freddie shrugged. "He's nothing but a rat."  
  
Deaky raised his dark eyebrows.  
  
"Yes, a villainous rat decaying in a cesspool of pride! Do you ever wonder why she looks so sad? Why she was so upset after seeing that show with Brian? It's because..."  
  
Freddie paused because he had read in Ronnie's mind that she didn't want anyone else to know, but Deaky needed to understand that...  
  
"...she doesn't feel loved," Freddie said sadly.  
  
Deaky finally turned fully to Freddie, who could see a sympathy laced with a very delicate pain peering out from behind his silver irises.  
  
"I believe the time has come to tell Ronnie she might be the one who can break the curse, darling," Freddie said optimistically.  
  
Deaky took in a deep breath, his anxiety evident.  
  
"Yes, you're right, tonight _was_ rather uncomfortable..."  
  
 _A fucking understatement if I've ever heard one,_ Freddie added dryly to himself before he clapped Deaky on the shoulder, hoping to infuse some of his own confidence into his friend's heart.  
  
"...but really, darling, we've delayed long enough. It's time that we told her your story."


	6. Chapter 6

"I'm sorry."  
  
Ronnie looked up to see Roger staring regretfully down at her and his blue eyes were so wide and filled with so much remorse that she mustered the biggest smile she could (which ended up not being very big at all) and croaked, "It's all right."  
  
Roger winced at her hoarse voice, still impacted by the smoke and the coughing, and sat down beside her. Delilah, who was curled up on the other side of Ronnie, let out a low, possessive growl as she lay her head in Ronnie's lap.  
  
Ronnie scratched behind Delilah's ears as Roger leered at the tiger.  
  
"Roger," Ronnie said slowly, because it was an effort to get each word up her irritated throat and out of her mouth, "why do you hate him so much?"  
  
At the thought of John, Roger folded his arms and looked away stubbornly.  
  
"He was once your friend, wasn't he?" Ronnie pressed gently.  
  
"Friends don't shoot you in the heart with arrows," Roger said tightly.  
  
Ronnie's eyes widened. Did he mean that literally, or was it just...a metaphor? Before she could ask for clarification, Freddie and John emerged from the woods and Ronnie felt her pulse quicken as her body went into survival mode thanks to John's mere presence.  
  
Forgetting about Roger's interesting remark, Ronnie gently put Delilah aside and excused herself for the night.  
  
\---  
  
"Here we are, darling!" Freddie said grandly. "The River of Wine So Clear!"  
  
Ronnie raised her eyebrows as she stepped gingerly over a tree stump and onto a perfectly manicured riverbank. There was certainly a river there but it didn't look any different from any other river she had ever seen.  
  
"Are you sure that's wine?" Roger asked suspiciously.  
  
Freddie inhaled deeply. "Do you not smell that magnificent aroma, darling?"  
  
Roger frowned. "I thought that was Brian."  
  
Anita covered her mouth with her hand, trying to stifle her grin.  
  
Ronnie sniffed the air timidly and sure enough, there was a very sweet fragrance permeating the air.  
  
"Tick tock, my dears," Freddie said enthusiastically as he hurried to the river's edge with his wooden cup. "The River of Wine waits for no one!"  
  
Well, that was certainly true, Ronnie thought to herself as she watched the waves of wine rush steadily past them.  
  
Kneeling upon the grass, she dipped her own cup into the river and studied the liquid carefully, before glancing over at Freddie, who had taken a long sip, closed his eyes in bliss, and murmured, "Flow on and on...forever!"  
  
Closing her own eyes, Ronnie recited to herself the task she was about to accomplish.

 _Drink from The River of Wine So Clear and know that life is indeed sweet, but beware - moderation is the key to happiness._  
  
Taking a tentative sip, Ronnie felt the wine soothe her still partially irritated throat as she swallowed it. The cool liquid gradually grew warmer as it reached her heart, where it settled there with a surprisingly pleasant sensation.  
  
Roger was already dipping his cup in the river for a second round.  
  
"Moderation is the key to happiness, Roger!" Brian warned him.  
  
Roger tipped his head back and consumed the second cup of wine in one swallow. "What's that, Brian? I can't hear you over the sound of my own happiness!"  
  
Brian rolled his eyes and said hotly to Freddie, "If he gets drunk, _I'm_ not carrying him!"  
  
Ronnie smiled to herself because she had grown used to the bickering; it was a familiar daily occurrence that made her feel safely embedded in a routine. But as she looked over her shoulder, she noticed someone was missing.  
  
"Are you enjoying your wine, darling?" Freddie asked as he sat down next to her with a replenished cup.  
  
"It's very...sweet," Ronnie admitted, before she asked her burning question. "Where is John?"  
  
"Hmm," Freddie murmured to himself. "How shall I put this delicately? Alcohol is not quite his...forte."  
  
Though she wanted to ask why, Ronnie merely nodded and took another small sip of wine.  
  
"Darling," Freddie said softly. "He is consumed with remorse over last night."  
  
Ronnie stared down into her cup. She didn't want him to be filled with remorse; she knew the events of the night before had been an accident but at the same time, that didn't make her feel any safer around him.  
  
"There's a name for what he's going through," Freddie added helpfully. "It's called Thunderbolt Fire."  
  
Thought she wanted to remain neutral, Ronnie found herself looking over at Freddie with interest. "What's Thunderbolt Fire?"  
  
Freddie straightened up importantly. "It's what happens when someone allows their emotions to ignite their magic. High emotions can be uncomfortable, fiery sensations for someone without magic, so you can only imagine what it must be like for someone with poor Deaky's ability. Once someone who cannot control their own magic feels that bolt of emotion in their heart, their magic erupts and manipulates anything nearby that may be flammable and causes it to...well, explode."  
  
Ronnie sighed. She knew Freddie was only trying to make her feel better but his explanation of John's inability to control his power was making her slightly more terrified.  
  
But her empathy squashed her terror for a brief moment and she murmured, "That's a horrible curse."  
  
"Indeed!" Freddie agreed, before adding carefully, "A curse that you may be able to help break. If you're willing, that is."  
  
Ronnie wasn't surprised to hear that. "Yes, you had mentioned when we first met that the curse could be broken by the trust of a woman in white."  
  
Freddie nodded, pleased that she had remembered and that she seemed to understand.  
  
"But I'm not a woman in white," Ronnie pointed out. "I'm wearing white _and_ black."   
  
Freddie waved his hand. "That hardly matters. Insignificant details, my dear."  
  
Ronnie looked at him doubtfully. "So the curse is simply broken by a woman in white trusting John?"  
  
"She has to trust him with her entire soul," Freddie explained. "One hundred percent pure and untainted trust. Once she feels that, she will be able to remove his crown of thorns and the curse will be broken."  
  
"You want _me_ to remove the crown of thorns," Ronnie said bluntly.  
  
"I know you don't trust him," Freddie said sadly, "but please, darling. Meet him tonight and let him tell you his story at the very least, before you decide if you're the woman for the job or not."  
  
Ronnie thought about Freddie's proposition as she drained the remainder of the wine in her cup and allowed the warmth to spread throughout her chest.  
  
"All right," she said finally. "But not near any fire."  
  
\---  
  
That was how Ronnie found herself being led through the woods that night, her hand in Freddie's as he helped her over fallen logs and around prickly bushes, traveling merely a short distance from their campsite.  
  
"Relax, darling," he said reassuringly as he held back a particularly springy branch so that she could pass by it safely. "You have nothing to fear."  
  
His words did nothing to quell Ronnie's anxiety but she nodded anyway as they came to the edge of the wood and to an empty clearing.  
  
An _almost_ empty clearing. Standing in the middle of it and gazing up at the stars was John. When he heard their footsteps, he turned and Ronnie winced as his white eyes gleamed in the darkness.  
  
"Remember, nothing to fear, my dear!" Freddie said as he elbowed her gently in the ribs, before adding proudly, "No fire, as promised!"  
  
John came forward very slowly with his arm outstretched, as if he were approaching a frightened animal. As he came closer, Ronnie could see he did not have his cloak on and she wondered if that was to make her feel more at ease. And clad in his black leather pants and that strange shirt made of red wrappings, he did seem a little less like a Black Queen.  
  
He stopped before her, offering his hand to her, and when she hesitated, Freddie took matters into his own hands, quite literally, and placed her hand in John's.  
  
"I'll be out of sight but within reach," he whispered to her, before he disappeared into the trees.  
  
Swallowing hard, Ronnie allowed John to lead her to the center of the clearing, her hand clasped in his as he walked backwards, his eyes never leaving hers.  
  
When they reached their destination, he dropped to his knees and tugged gently on her hand, indicating that she should do the same.  
  
Ronnie did as he suggested and knelt upon the cold ground, flinching as John inched forward so that his knees were touching hers.  
  
Releasing her hand, he held up both of his own and tilted his head towards them meaningfully. With shaking fingers, Ronnie raised her own hands and placed them lightly against his so that they were palm to palm.  
  
The only source of light was from the bright and round full moon but Ronnie could make out John's features quite clearly from that alone. The corner of his mouth lifted in what she guessed was supposed to be a reassuring smile, before he leaned towards her.  
  
Overcome with apprehension, Ronnie closed her eyes and trembled like a leaf until she felt something warm upon her forehead. Opening one eye, she saw that John was leaning his forehead against hers and his eyes, too, were closed.

 _Open up your mind and let me step inside,_ John's voice whispered in her head.  
  
Ronnie closed her eye and forced her mind to be calm even though she was touching John in all sort of ways that felt uncomfortable; her forehead pressed against his, palms glued to his own, knees touching ever so gently.  
  
And then, suddenly, the blackness behind her lids was filled with excruciating colors as the shadows she normally saw when she closed her eyes turned into actually visions...  
  
 _Ronnie found herself in an overgrown field at sunset and everything was quiet, serene even. That is, until the ground below her began to shake, mildly at first but growing in intensity and she felt herself running for shelter. As she crouched behind a tree at the edge of a forest, she looked to her left and saw...  
_  
 _...Roger. He glanced at her and offered a nervous smile.  
_  
 _Glancing down, Ronnie stared in surprise at legs that were quite longer than hers. The hair that was framing her face was wavy and brown and the hands that were resting on her knees had the lengthy fingers of a man, with rings adorning the middle and pinky fingers of the right hand._

_Ronnie had seen those rings before on John's fingers and she guessed that she was stranded in the remote past and that this was John's memory of it. She tried to move around, to lift the hands that were not her own, but found she couldn't. Every move she had already made - running to the tree, glancing over at Roger - had been John's own actions. It dawned on her then that she was merely along for the ride, safe within John's own body and witnessing everything through his eyes._

_His fingernails were not yet black, so that could only mean that this was before he had transformed into the Black Queen...  
_   
_Right on cue, Ronnie heard a great big cry and saw the reason for the quaking ground: dozens of ogre-men rushing across the field and throwing themselves into battle against ordinary men who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere.  
_   
_The air was suddenly filled with the clanging of swords and shouts of war.  
_   
_Beside her, Roger rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a drumstick. "This is all I have to fight with!" he said in despair.  
_   
_"Well I'm not fighting!" Brian's voice said from behind. "War never solves anything!"  
_   
_"Quite so, darling," Freddie said from the other side of the tree, "but at the same time, I don't think talking is going to solve anything either!"  
_   
_At that moment, one great big eye focused in their direction and Ronnie felt herself move unwittingly closer to the tree...once again John's own gesture, not her own. Feeling a reassuring hand on her arm, she turned and saw Roger gripping John's elbow.  
_   
_"Never fear, Deaky," he said, his face determined. "I won't let those ogre-men eat you!"  
_   
_And with a ferocious cry, he raised his drumstick in the air and ran out onto the field.  
_   
_"Roger!" Freddie hissed loudly. "Come back here this instant!"  
_   
_"What does he think he's going to do with that stick?" Brian asked incredulously.  
_   
_"Perhaps stick it in an ogre eye?" Freddie suggested as he ran a hand down his face. "For fuck's sake, Roger!"  
_   
_Ronnie scanned the battlefield for Roger as worry swam through her veins and fear gripped her heart at the thought of Roger in battle with just a mere stick to protect himself with. She realized then that not only was she reliving the events of the day through John's eyes, she was actually feeling his emotions, as well._

_So there truly had been a time when Roger and John had been close friends...  
_   
_A black object in the distance caught her eye and she saw, at the top of a nearby hill, a strange black disc spinning in the sky. It looked vaguely familiar; in fact, Ronnie somewhat remembered seeing Valentino with one...what had he called it?...  
_   
_Oh, that's right. A record.  
_   
_And underneath the record was a large man dressed entirely in dark green robes, his long white hair and equally long white beard billowing in the evening breeze, and he was laughing so hard that he was bent over, his hand holding his side as he chortled with mirth.  
_   
_Ronnie's chest - or rather, John's chest - tightened as it became obvious that the man was the owner of that spinning record in the sky and that it was some sort of enchantment that was pulling the ogre-men and ordinary men into battle. It was that same enchantment that had lured Roger onto the battlefield, as well.  
_   
_And how dare he think that war was a game, that he could spill innocent blood for fun, that he could endanger the life of one of John's best friends!  
_   
_That was when Ronnie found herself running, John's long legs propelling her forward.  
_   
_"Deaky!" Freddie's voice shouted behind her. "Not you too, darling! Come back!"  
_   
_But John was fast and he was already skirting the battlefield. Ronnie sensed something in her hand and looking down, she observed John's long fingers grasping the neck of a black bass guitar.  
_   
_Feeling her heart pounding with the exertion, Ronnie could only watch as a helpless participant as John ran up the hill and upon reaching the top, flung the bass towards the spinning disc in the sky.  
_   
_Up until that point, the white haired wizard had been doubled over in laughter and had not noticed her but as the bass guitar made contact with the record and shattered the disc into a hundred pieces, the wizard straightened up in shock.  
_   
_Bits and pieces of the sharp black record rained down on the two of them as they observed each other and as the ordinary men and ogre-men on the battlefield stopped fighting and stared at each other in confusion.  
_   
_And then, realizing that she (or John, rather) had broken the enchantment, ended the war, and destroyed his fun, the wizard threw out his arm and aimed a spear at her. Bright blue light shot from the three prongs and hit John's body with such force that Ronnie found herself falling halfway down the hill._

_And then she felt a pain unlike any she had ever felt before._

_She vaguely heard shouts that sounded familiar, sort of like Freddie and Brian, but she was in too much pain to pay much heed to the voices. As the blue light continued to electrify John's body, the wizard's voice boomed above her.  
_   
_"You dared to interfere in matters that should not be meddled with and for that you will be punished! You think you can control a god's will - ha! - then I curse thee, John Richard Deacon, with a power that you will NEVER be able to control!"  
_   
_As the light faded away and the pain lessened to a mere throbbing through John's entire body, Ronnie sensed a vibrating sensation in the air as her nerves prickled with a strange discomfort. So this was what it felt like to have magic.  
_   
_John rolled onto his belly then and Ronnie saw Freddie and Brian also sprawled out on the ground, the glow of blue magic surrounding them like an eclipse, until it disappeared and the singer and the guitarist were left staring at each other in shocked silence.  
_   
_As John rose up to his knees, Ronnie stared up at the powerful bearded man that was towering over her and realized that this really wasn't a wizard, though John must have thought so at the time. This was the god that Freddie had spoken of so often.  
  
This was Trident.  
_   
_Ronnie sensed movement behind her as Freddie and Brian scrambled to their feet to aid John but Trident's spear hit them with another bolt of blue light, preventing them from coming to his rescue.  
_   
_"It seems your friends have a problem with interference, just like you," Trident observed, before Ronnie was blinded by that same blue light once again and the agonizing pain returned.  
_   
_When it finally stopped, spiky blades of grass poked her palms as John's long fingers gripped tufts of the field's greenery, as if that could possibly ground him, and Ronnie noticed that John's fingernails were now black.  
_   
_"A curse upon a curse," Trident's voice rumbled. "To pay for the insolence of your friends, you're now additionally cursed with a fearsome ugliness."  
_   
_As John struggled back to his knees, a terrible, uncharacteristic anger bubbled up in Ronnie's stomach and a low, strangled noise emitted from somewhere in her throat._

_Poor John, she thought to herself. He was so distraught at this very moment...  
_   
_"Hey! Hey you!"  
_   
_Ronnie recognized Roger's voice and she felt John's heart, currently intertwined with her own, contract with dread as he silently implored the drummer to hold his tongue.  
_   
_But of course, Roger was never one to hold his tongue.  
_   
_"Why don't you pick on someone your own size, eh?" Roger's voice shouted. "Deaky has done nothing to deserve THAT many curses! You're like a...a...a curse addict, that's what you are!"  
_   
_Trident frowned. "Well, now that you put it like that I..."  
_   
_And that excruciating pain seized John's body again as he convulsed upon the ground. Ronnie felt her mouth open unintentionally - John was trying to cry out in pain - but no sound came out.  
_   
_"There," Trident said as he finished administering his third round of magical suffering. "Thanks to your friend's tongue, you are now cursed with no voice."  
_   
_John opened his mouth once more to try and speak and Ronnie found that Trident was right - he had no voice. As John dropped his head in despair, Ronnie heard Roger's voice behind her.  
_   
_"Fuck that and fuck you! You're not a god, you're a coward!"  
_   
_John's voice threaded through her mind, connecting their thoughts as he silently pleaded with Roger to stop arguing with Trident. A soft thud on the ground showed her that Trident had tossed John a bow and a few arrows.  
_   
_"You're angry," Trident's voice said softly. "You wish to harm me."  
_   
_John lifted his head, his anger coursing through Ronnie so strongly it was nearly paralyzing.  
_   
_"So do it, I say!" Trident taunted him. "Take an arrow to my heart and avenge yourself."  
_   
_And with rage overtaking the rational part of John's brain, he picked up the bow and shot an arrow at Trident's heart, but Trident disappeared. The arrow flew through empty air and toppled uselessly to the ground.  
_   
_"I'm behind you!" The god's voice said gleefully.  
_   
_And picking up another arrow, John spun around and shot the arrow free immediately. But Trident wasn't there and Ronnie watched with horror as the arrow pierced Roger's heart instead.  
_   
_Roger's face contorted in shock as he dropped his drumstick and both hands grasped the arrow protruding from his chest, which was glowing a vibrant yellow.  
_   
_Ronnie perceived a hand on her heart and knew that John was grasping his own chest and feeling a crushing fear for Roger's safety, as well as the horror of the mistake he had just made. Ronnie held tight to her own emotions as John ran towards the drummer.  
_   
_Roger dropped weakly to his knees, but there was nothing weak about his voice as he growled, "Stay away!"  
_   
_The fury in Roger's voice made John stop in his tracks. Roger tore the arrow from his heart with a painful grimace, yet there was no blood upon the arrow tip or upon Roger's breast._

_Cold evening air flooded Ronnie's lungs as John took a deep breath and opened his mouth to explain, but no sound came out and she felt in her heart John's terrible realization that he would never be able to explain his actions without a voice.  
_   
_Just like Trident had promised.  
_   
_Once more, John moved towards Roger, but Roger scrambled backward and shouted, "Don't! Don't you dare come near me!"  
_   
_Wracked with indecision, John turned his head and Ronnie saw that every eye on the battlefield was upon John and Roger, and that many of the men were staring at her...at John...with open-mouthed terror. With a jolt of recognition, she beheld Valentino's shocked face among them. She felt John's heart sinking to the depths of despair and thought to herself that she had probably looked just like those horrified people the first time she had met him.  
_   
_A puff of black smoke on the hill yanked everyone's attention away from John for just a moment as a beautiful woman in a resplendent black gown appeared. As she marched down the hill, she brushed away her waist length hair of silver and fixed large, angry eyes on Trident.  
_   
_"What have you done!"  
_   
_"Oh, come now, Elektra," Trident said cordially. "It's nothing but a bit of fun."  
_   
_"You call ruining lives fun?" Elektra snapped, as she took the arrow out of Roger's hand and studied the glowing tip, before throwing it away from her. "What did you poison that arrow with?"  
_   
_Trident sighed irritably. "Paranoia."  
_   
_"A curse in itself!" Elektra hissed. "I demand that you undo everything you've done to these poor men!"  
_   
_"I can't," Trident said, folding his arms stubbornly. "What's done is done."  
_   
_"Then I'm adding to it!" And Elektra turned to John and stretched out her arm. Ronnie watched in fascination as the softest of purple glows emitted from her fingertips and she felt it fill John with a healing glow._

_The goddess put a kind hand on John's shoulder. "You have been cursed, my dear, but it is a curse that can now be broken by the trust of a woman in white. I'm afraid that's the best I can do."  
_   
_Trident snorted. "A woman in white who will never trust him because of his uncontrollable power and fearful appearance. A woman in white who will never trust him because he has no voice to explain his terrible magic and his monstrous features!"  
_   
_"There will be someone," Elektra said confidently, ignoring Trident and addressing only John. "I know there is a woman in white out there who will see you for who you really are. But you must be patient and you mustn't despair."  
_   
_Long, green grass filled Ronnie's vision as John bowed his head.  
_   
_"And when your curse is broken, your friends' curses will also be no more," Elektra promised, before she marched over to Trident and gripped his ear roughly.  
  
"Farewell...Black Queen!" Trident's voice called cheerfully to John before he and Elektra disappeared in another puff of black smoke.  
_   
_As Trident's voice echoed around them, John looked up and took a step towards Roger, who grabbed his drumstick from the ground and aimed it at him.  
_   
_The drumstick was glowing and without hesitation, Roger cried out, "Automolove!" and Ronnie felt pain shoot through John's tailbone as he was thrown backward onto the hard, unforgiving ground.  
_   
_Staring at Roger in shock, Ronnie could clearly see the paranoia brimming powerfully in his eyes. She could see Freddie cautiously putting himself between his two friends as he shook his head desperately, no doubt trying to block out all the voices he could now hear radiating from people's minds. She could see Brian rushing over to Roger, though his eyes were haunted by the realization that his beloved guitar was no more and furthermore, that when he had tried to pluck out a quick tune, nothing had happened.  
_   
_Slowly, John rose to his feet and Ronnie saw everyone receding into the distance as John began to back away from his friends, from the spectators on the battlefield, from all the misery that he believed he had caused..._

_But it's not your fault, Ronnie wanted to whisper in his ear, though he wouldn't have been able to hear her.  
_   
_"That's it!" Roger cried out. "Run! Run away but know that I will find you and I will make you pay for what you've done!"  
_   
_Ronnie felt something wet on her face and as John wiped it away, he looked down at his fingers and Ronnie saw a smear of red.  
_   
_Why was he crying blood?  
_   
_Turning, John ran into the woods, twigs scraping his face and branches clawing at the cloak on his back. Ronnie experienced the most agonizing emotional pain violently stirring the pit of John's stomach an_ _d that's when the forest disappeared before Ronnie's very eyes and she saw nothing but sand as John fell to his hands and knees on a beach._

_She watched through his eyes as he stared out at the waves of the sea. On an island somewhere on the horizon, a lighthouse stood tall and proud with the soft glow of a lantern swinging gently in the breeze.  
  
The pain boiling in John's core had reached an alarming level as it rose, and rose, and rose until it had submerged his heart in fiery water. He_ _opened his mouth and though he couldn't force an agonized cry past his lips, the glass of the lantern in the distance shattered as the blaze within exploded like a firework and swept a terrifying orange light out across the entire sea._

_Ronnie's world spun as John's entire body convulsed, and shook, and trembled, and he dug his black fingernails into the sand and everything before her blurred. She knew then that his pupils were burning red._

_She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, but trapped in John's aching body, she could only ride his volatile emotions along with him, and when the moment came where her vision cleared and the air was silent and night had fallen, she saw that the sea was gone and red tear drops soaked the sand.  
_  
Gradually, the colors disappeared and once more, there was only darkness. Ronnie realized that John didn't wish her to see any more of the memories of that day and opening her eyes, found her face was wet with tears.  
  
John pulled his forehead from hers and his voice filled her mind.  
  
 _There's no living in my life anymore_  
 _The seas have gone dry_  
 _And the rain's stopped falling_  
  
Ronnie felt a fresh arrow of misery pierce her in the heart as she absorbed everything she had just experienced. Two fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.  
  
She hadn't realized her palms were still pressed against John's until he gently linked his fingers through hers.  
  
 _Please don't you cry any more_  
 _Can't you see?_

As Ronnie's heart ached terribly for him, the most peculiar thing happened and it happened so fast, Ronnie couldn't be sure it was real. In the span of just seconds, John's eyes transformed into a beautiful gray color, with a small black pupil in the center of each eye, before the color vanished, leaving nothing but white and silver once more.

He didn't seem to realize it had happened as his voice continued to weave his story within her mind.  
  
 _Even the valleys below_  
 _Where the rays of the sun were so warm and tender_  
 _Now haven't anything to grow_

Shortly after he had become the Black Queen, the crops in that region had stopped growing, but was it really his doing? Yes, he had dried up the entire sea, but surely he couldn't have had any power over the rain...over the _weather_...  
  
 _Can't you see?_

Ronnie's desperate wish to help him overtook her fear of his abilities and untangling her fingers from his, she rose higher on her knees so that she was momentarily a tad taller than him. Reaching up very slowly, she placed her hands on the crown of thorns that sat atop his head, wincing at the sharpness that pricked her palms.  
  
All she had to do was trust him, right? And with that thought in mind, she attempted to lift the crown.  
  
It wouldn't budge.  
  
She tried again, and again, but it was effectively stuck there, and Freddie's voice from earlier that day returned to her and reminded her to...

_...trust him with her entire soul. One hundred percent pure and untainted trust. Once she feels that, she will be able to remove his crown of thorns and the curse will be broken._

John placed his fingers over hers and removed her hands from the crown. Ronnie became uncomfortably aware that John knew she couldn't remove the crown, which meant John knew she didn't trust him.   
  
"I'm sorry," she whispered, "but I can't help you."

John shook his head and his voice wrapped itself around her heart.

_It's a long hard fight_   
_To trust in one another right from the start..._

_No!_ she wanted to shout at him. He was being optimistic, he was trying to tell her that trust takes time, but she didn't know if she would _ever_ be able to trust him fully because here she knelt, knowing his entire tragic story and how unfairly Trident had cursed him, and yet she was _still_ afraid of him.

John grasped her fingers as the wind blew her hair away from her face.  
  
 _Listen to the breeze_  
 _Whisper to me please_

Ronnie thought to herself that he must have known she was doubting her ability to trust him because though his eyes were just white with the faintest of irises, she could still somehow see the desperation lurking there in his gaze as he held her hand and bit his lip uncertainly, the sharp fangs digging into the soft skin. 

_Don't send me to the path of nevermore_

Ronnie felt her own lip tremble. Yes, trust was a delicate thing that took precious time to build, but the thought that he might put his faith in her, and that she may never trust him enough to save him, was too much of a burden to bear.  
  
Perhaps it would be better, _easier_ even, to find another woman in white. Another White Queen.

"I'm not the one," she whispered to John, before she tore her fingers from his and ran from the clearing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll find the gods/goddesses in this story are all record labels that Queen were once signed to. :)
> 
> This chapter almost didn't happen this weekend but then I sprained my ankle, had to cancel all my weekend plans, and suddenly had plenty of time to write! Small blessings, I guess.
> 
> Any feedback is wholeheartedly welcome and so very appreciated!


	7. Chapter 7

When Freddie heard rustling in the bushes, he leapt to his feet and puffed out his chest.

For the past hour, he had been mentally crafting his thank you speech to Ronnie with the precision that he would usually reserve for writing a song. But now was the moment he could finally deliver his oration of gratitude because at any moment, she would appear with Deaky, hand in hand...

Freddie allowed his face to break into a wide, toothy smile. Or arm in arm!  
  
 _Thank you, darling!_ He would say grandly. _Thank you for taking on this noble challenge, for being Deaky's Woman in White! You don't know what this means to him, my dear, what it means to all of us..._

Needless to say, when Ronnie burst forth from the trees quite alone and with a tear-streaked face, Freddie was more than a little perturbed. 

She stopped only long enough to say in a low, discomposed voice, "You're going to have to find another woman in white," before she turned to run away.  
  
Freddie caught her hand and looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, Deaky was there between the trees but when Freddie's eyes met his, he put a finger to his lips and disappeared into the branches.  
  
"Come now, darling," Freddie said soothingly as Ronnie tried to tug her hand away. "You know very well that we're in the middle of nowhere and you're the only woman in white for miles."  
  
"Do you want my shirt then?" Ronnie asked testily as she plucked at her white tunic with her free fingers. "You can dress Anita up in it and she can be your woman in white!"  
  
"You're clearly very upset," Freddie said carefully as he reassuringly patted the hand he was still holding. "And personally, I never make decisions when I'm upset...or on an empty stomach for that matter, so perhaps we should just..."  
  
"Freddie!" Ronnie said firmly, squeezing his fingers so tightly that he was forced into an unwilling silence. "A calm mind and a full stomach is not going to make me change my mind!"  
  
Freddie sighed.  
  
"I'm sorry," Ronnie said in a voice tinged with a heavy regret, "but I can't help him."  
  
"And why not?" Freddie demanded.  
  
"Because I don't trust him!"  
  
"You don't trust him _yet,"_ Freddie corrected her.  
  
"I don't know if I'll ever be able to trust him," Ronnie said, her honesty sharp as a knife.  
  
Freddie glanced at the trees, hoping that Deaky hadn't heard that but knowing perfectly well that he had. "But darling, he would never..."  
  
"I know!" Ronnie cried out, before she softened her voice. "I _know."  
  
_ Freddie loosened his grip on her hand and Ronnie seized the opportunity to pull it away.  
  
"I know he would never harm me intentionally," Ronnie continued in a low voice. "That's not the reason I don't trust him."  
  
"Then tell me why," Freddie said, lifting his chin and staring down at her.  
  
"I don't trust him because he could harm me without meaning to," Ronnie said quietly. "Freddie, we both know he can't control his magic."  
  
Freddie found himself wishing he had a pocketful of cotton, because he would have scampered right into the woods and stuffed Deaky's ears with it.  
  
"He controlled himself enough tonight to tell you his story," Freddie pointed out.  
  
"He...He dropped me right in the middle of his story."  
  
"And do you want to how he did that, darling? He manipulated a wee bit of his magic to make that happen for you." Freddie placed his hands on his hips and added proudly, "He's been practicing."  
  
"That's certainly a start," Ronnie said doubtfully, "but with Roger constantly playing with his emotions..."  
  
"Very well," Freddie said decisively. "We'll dump Roger at the next town."  
  
"No!" Ronnie said forcefully. "This isn't Roger's fault! He's cursed, too!"  
  
"My dear," Freddie said suddenly, "you say you don't trust Deaky, but have you ever thought perhaps you don't trust _yourself_ _?"_  
  
"What do you mean?" Ronnie asked quickly, though Freddie could see in her mind that she knew exactly what he meant.  
  
"You're afraid you won't ever trust him enough to break the curse," Freddie observed. "And thus, you're distrusting your own ability, my dear."  
  
 _Damn your own ability to read minds!_ Ronnie's thoughts shouted at him and Freddie offered her a grim apologetic smile for reading in her thoughts that quite simply, she didn't trust that she was the right woman in white.  
  
Having been backed into a conversational corner, Ronnie turned the discussion once more to the danger of Deaky's powers by exclaiming, "That doesn't matter! What matters is that next time, Brian might not be there to shove me out of the way!"  
  
She let this disturbing realization fall over Freddie like a heavy blanket, before she turned on her heel and ran into the forest.  
  
Freddie cast an apologetic look at the tree Deaky was hiding behind but his friend didn't materialize. With a sigh, Freddie trudged through the bramble and found the bassist leaning against a sturdy trunk, his arms wrapped protectively around himself.  
  
Though it was dark and though Deaky turned his face away when Freddie approached, Freddie could still see the whites of his friend's eyes were flecked with red.  
  
"Come now and dry your eyes, darling," he said gently as he put a hand on Deaky's shoulder. "She'll come around eventually."  
  
Deaky shook his head and Freddie could see he was making an effort to keep his face still, though a muscle in his cheek twitched and his chin was wobbling slightly.  
  
Freddie narrowed his eye suspiciously. "She is right, you know. We _could_ find you another woman in white."  
  
Deaky's black eyebrows rose as the very thought grabbed him roughly by the heart and unlocked a memory that had been purposefully buried deep in his mind.  
  
"Aha," Freddie said softly, as he briefly caught the memory before Deaky pulled it back into the furthest corner of his mind. Trees, children, a beautiful young schoolteacher reading from a book. "You don't _want_ another woman in white, do you, darling?"  
  
Deaky winced, before he finally surrendered and allowed the memory to resurface in plain sight. Freddie watched the memory, which was entirely from Deaky's point of view, like a film clip, as Deaky's thoughts narrated it for him.  
  
Deaky was crouching in a forest thick with trees, his view unobstructed as he gazed upon a wide open field of green. Little children dotted the landscape as they looked up with innocent awe at a beautiful woman sitting cross-legged on a tree stump, a heavy, leather-bound tome balanced in her hands.   
  
"You already knew the White Queen before this journey?" Freddie asked curiously.  
  
Deaky shook his head and Freddie read the sad truth in his mind.  
  
Wracked with guilt about piercing Roger's heart with an arrow, Deaky had left the eastern part of the land and traveled north with no destination in mind. He had kept to the woods as much as he possibly could, for he was also consumed with fear that someone would find him. He had seen crude drawings of his face on wanted posters, accompanied by black block letters that spelled out **THE BLACK QUEEN** , and he knew the men from the Ogre Battle had spread the word, that Roger had fueled their paranoia with his own, that the people of the east were furious that their sea had disappeared, that these people were turning rumors into facts.  
  
Hopeless and with more than his fair share of fiery incidents, Deaky had stopped in a northwestern wood and come upon Ronnie and her schoolchildren, quite by accident. And the scene was so comforting to him after so many months of misery that he had sat himself upon on the ground, his eyes taking in every curve of her lovely face as her voice soothed him into distraction and the the giggles of the delighted children lightened his heart. Ronnie's tales of adventure and danger and love forced Deaky to forget own nightmare for just awhile, her words lulling him into a gentle calmness.  
  
He had camped in that part of the wood for approximately a week, listening to Ronnie read to the children every day, and perhaps he wouldn't have left so soon if it hadn't been for the terrible dream that woke him late one night.  
  
In his dream, the beautiful schoolteacher had come across him in the wood and upon seeing his revolting appearance and sensing the dangerous magic that flowed through his veins, she had screamed, rousing the entire village, who came with torches and pitchforks and...  
  
It had been simply just a dream, but the chance of her finding him in the woods was very real, so Deaky had reluctantly moved on that very night, returning only once more...two years later on the night before Ronnie left for her coming of age journey. The children had grown a tad older but her voice still had the capacity to soothe him. Though he was shocked to find that the stories she now told were of him, of the Black Queen...  
  
It was then that Freddie realized why finding another woman in white was out of the question for Deaky and why Ronnie's distrust hurt him so much.  
  
"Oh darling," Freddie whispered. "What have you done? You've gone and fallen in love with her."   
  
A red tear slipped down Deaky's cheek. He looked anxiously at the clearing, where Ronnie had stood and declared her distrust of him only minutes before.  
  
"Don't worry," Freddie said reassuringly, before he tapped his own forehead. "Your secrets are safe with me, darling."  
  
\---  
  
Anita held up one of Roger's glowing drumsticks as she observed the dark trees around her. She was fairly certain Ronnie, Freddie, and Deaky had gone this way and they had said they wouldn't stray too far away from the camp...  
  
...and that they wouldn't be long, either, which was precisely why she was now trudging through the forest in search of them. And alone, at that, because though Brian had offered to accompany her, she really wanted a moment to herself to process his reappearance in her life.  
  
Of course, he had been insistent but when she had told him that she was pairing this short rescue expedition with a "break" ("Leave her alone so she can go take a piss, Brian!" Roger had exclaimed), he had blushed and sat back down next to Roger, who generously offered her a lit drumstick.  
  
Ronnie appeared, quite out of nowhere, and Anita jumped in fright.  
  
"Sorry," whispered Ronnie, who had at least received forewarning of Anita's presence by seeing the glowing stick in the distance.  
  
Anita flattened her hand against her pulsating chest. "That's all right. Where are the others?"  
  
Ronnie gestured behind her, before her lip trembled and she excused herself, hurrying in the direction of the campsite.  
  
Anita frowned as she watched her new friend go and wondered what had transpired in that part of the woods to distress her so.  
  
She eventually came upon a clearing, where the moon was shining an eerie light down on two men, and a familiar voice was rising out of the darkness.  
  
"Just leave it to me, darling, and she'll be trusting you in no time at all..."  
  
Anita stopped abruptly as she was hit by a rather powerful evocation. Perhaps it was the way Freddie was draping his arm over Deaky's shoulders, or the way he had uttered the word _trusting,_ but whatever it was, it seized her and dragged her into the past, to a rocky cliff that smelled of the sea.  
  
To the night she had met Brian.  
  
\---  
  
 _Anita knew perfectly well that young women in their right minds did not visit the sea at three in the morning. No, three in the morning was the witching hour and all reasonable young women were tucked into their beds and locked in their homes at that time, safe from the fallen angels of the night.  
_  
 _But not Anita, who was restlessly pacing the edge of a cliff as her demons raged around her and the waves crashed against the rocks below. Those rational women at home hadn't just failed their tenth audition, and those sensible women at home hadn't just been discarded by a long-term boyfriend, and...  
_  
 _...those safe women at home weren't feeling the cold seep into their very bones as the sea sprayed their bare feet with icy water, making the cliff treacherously slick. Slick enough that, as Anita continued to drown in her own thoughts, she stepped carelessly on a wet patch of rock and slipped, falling headfirst into the sea._  
 _  
With no time to mentally prepare herself, Anita sucked in a lungful of salty water and unwittingly opened her eyes to see nothing but a frightening dark murkiness. She kicked her legs frantically and moved her arms, but no matter how she tried, she could not surface. The waves were simply too strong as they continuously pushed her under, and Anita prayed that those same waves wouldn't toss her carelessly against the cliff and break every bone in her body, and why had she decided to visit the sea at the witching hour!  
_  
 _I should know better...  
_  
 _That one thought flowed through Anita's mind as water flowed into her nostrils and fearful disbelief clawed at her heart as she realized she was going to die without ever having been a true actress, she was going to die without having ever found true love and...  
_  
 _...then there were hands on her hips, and arms, too! Arms around her waist, and a body pressed against hers, and she felt herself gliding through the water, making actual progress though it was really no thanks to her.  
_  
 _She knew she was free of the sea when cold air hit her in the face, but everything was still dark and she felt limp, almost lifeless, as she felt gentle fingers on her face and a mouth cover her own. A soft voice invaded her mind.  
_  
 _It wasn't until someone else's air filled her lungs that her eyes popped open and she violently coughed up seawater as her lungs burned like they were on fire.  
_  
 _Though Anita was no longer on the top of the cliff, she was still safely above the sea, laying on a rocky outcropping a few feet above the water. As the sea lapped at her toes, she remembered how it had felt to almost drown and fear pulled her to her knees. She crawled as far away from the water as she could and straight into a pair of arms.  
_  
 _Startled, she pulled away and found herself looking into the green eyes of a man, his long dark hair soaked and dripping as it fell to his shoulders. His didn't quite have a beard, but his face was covered with a dark scruff, and she could tell by the way his long legs were folded tightly underneath him in the small space that he was tall, very tall...  
_  
 _A lovely man in every way, yet his lip was curled down with a fierce sadness and his eyes were rimmed with red. Though she couldn't be certain, she wondered if the water that was streaming down his face was from sea droplets or from the moisture that was brimming in his eyes. It was as if her own depression had materialized into a human being and was now staring back at her.  
_  
 _But then compassion broke the intense sadness that lined this man's face and he brushed her wet hair away from her eyes as she began to tremble forcefully.  
_  
 _The man hesitated only a second before he pulled Anita into his arms and rocking her gently in his embrace, whispered to her as she erupted into tears.  
_  
 _"Ssshh," he said kindly. "It's all right. You're safe now."  
_  
 _As the sea boiled all around them, and the witching hour gradually faded away, Anita hugged the man tightly and thought to herself...  
  
So are you. Please know that you're safe, too, whatever it is that's hurting you so.  
  
_Anita bit her lip as the bittersweet memory began to disappear from her conscious mind. As much as she hated to remember that there had been a time when Brian had been so sad, the simple fact was that if he had not visited the sea at three that morning, if he had not been sitting on that rocky outcropping trying to fight his depressed feelings, she wouldn't be here today.  
  
When Brian had held her early that morning, she had only known him for four minutes, but she hadn't considered him a stranger. And that's because he had made her feel safe and as a result, she had trusted him completely.  
  
And perhaps that's exactly what Ronnie needed.  
  
With her memory fresh in her heart, Anita rushed forward and planted her own hands on Deaky's shoulders.  
  
"All you need to do is make her feel safe," she whispered to him, "and then she'll trust you without restraint."  
  
\---  
  
What followed was the most awkward week that Ronnie had ever had the displeasure to experience, yet that wasn't the reason she woke early one morning, the world still dark and the birds all asleep, and tiptoed further into the forest to sit herself down on a stump.  
  
She simply wanted a moment to herself before everyone else awoke because today was a significant day that she felt she should acknowledge in some way, though she didn't want her fellow travelers to know about it.  
  
Sitting cross-legged on the stump, much like she used to do when she read to her schoolchildren, Ronnie closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of decaying leaves and cold air; the promise of winter. As the sun slowly rose and the forest gradually lightened, Ronnie plucked from the ground a golden leaf, crisp from the mid-October air, and held it to her heart as she conjured up a little prayer in her mind. And then, very gently, she blew the leaf into the hazy morning light.   
  
"Happy Anniversary, Ronnie," she whispered to herself.  
  
"It's your anniversary!?" a voice exclaimed behind her.  
  
Ronnie whipped around and saw Roger, drumstick in hand, staring at her with growing excitement.  
  
Ronnie sighed before she held out both hands, as if that alone could gesture him into silence and crush his enthusiasm.  
  
"Yes," she whispered, "but it really doesn't matter..."  
  
Freddie popped up from behind a bush. "Don't be daft, darling! Of course it matters!"   
  
"I'll go catch you a fish," Roger agreed.  
  
"No," Ronnie protested as she rose from her stump and grasped Roger's wrist. "I don't want to celebrate it!"  
  
"And why ever not?" Freddie demanded.  
  
Ronnie looked at him helplessly. _"He_ isn't even here to celebrate it with me."  
  
"Nonsense, darling, who says your significant other has to be here to celebrate your anniversary?" Freddie said reasonably.  
  
Ronnie released Roger's wrist and as she began the short journey back to the campsite, she heard insistent footsteps behind her.   
  
"It's not even worth celebrating!" she muttered.  
  
"Why, because he's an arse...hey!" Roger exclaimed as he was cut short by a pinch from Freddie.  
  
Ronnie searched desperately for an excuse that would dampen their desire for a celebration. "Because it's only been two years. That's not very long."  
  
"Two years!" Freddie said with feverish delight. "That's practically ages! Roger hasn't ever had a girlfriend for that long, have you, Rog?"  
  
As Brian's curly head came into sign, indicating that they had arrived at their destination, Ronnie turned and gave them a pleading look. "Let's just act like this is any other day...please?"  
  
Freddie and Roger exchanged a look before they both sighed and reluctantly agreed.  
  
\---  
  
And they kept their promise...for the most part. Roger did bring her a handful of juicy berries, and Freddie did break out cups of wine to make a toast to ordinary days and zero celebrations, and Brian did smile at her more than he usually did, but Ronnie merely brushed these occurrences away because she had no viable proof that these were celebratory anniversary gestures.  
  
At least, she didn't until John knelt before her that night with something in his hands.  
  
Her first instinct was to shrink away from him because they were three feet from the fire pit (and because they had been carefully avoiding each other ever since that night in the clearing) but, recalling all of the suffering he had endured thanks to Trident, she forced herself to sit still on the overturned log and gaze down at him calmly.  
  
Shyly, John handed her a bouquet of white.  
  
Ronnie glanced down at the bouquet in surprise and saw tufts of white cotton nestled together atop slim, dark branches. Ordinarily, Ronnie didn't find cotton especially eye catching, but gathered up like this, it was astonishingly beautiful.  
  
Where had he managed to find cotton in these woods?  
  
Freddie let out an enchanted sigh. "How very thoughtful darling!"  
  
"Cotton!" Roger said derisively. "How very nice, he's brought you a pillow!"  
  
"Actually," Brian said informatively, "cotton is very meaningful. The traditional gift for a two year anniversary is cotton."  
  
Ronnie gently ran her finger over the soft cotton, white and fluffy as clouds, and stared down at John in awe. She thanked him very quietly before she remembered the reason she hadn't wanted to celebrate.  
  
The smile slipped off her face and turning to Freddie, she asked with the slightest hint of accusation, "What happened to just another ordinary day?"  
  
Freddie folded his arms and sprung to his own defense immediately. "We are _not_ celebrating, just as we promised! This is simply a special moment for a special woman...which just so happens to be on a special day."  
  
But she could see in Freddie's eyes that he knew, no doubt from reading her mind, that today wasn't really _that_ special and the reason she didn't want to celebrate was because it was likely that, back in her village, Valentino had completely forgotten it was their anniversary.  
  
Ronnie tore her gaze away from Freddie and looked back down at John, though she didn't smile this time.   
  
But as her hands tightened on the branch stems of the cotton bouquet, she noticed John's white eyes were very bright and slowly... _so_ slowly...the corner of his mouth lifted into the first true smile she had ever seen on his face.   
  
A very small smile, more like a smirk, but it was still there.  
  
And then he got to his feet and left her there, feeling very bewildered indeed.  
  
\---  
  
As soon as his head hit his makeshift pillow, Freddie let out a dramatic sigh of pleasure.  
  
"Ssshh!" Roger hissed.  
  
Freddie promptly ignored him. There was no way Roger's temperament was going to ruin his satisfaction! Though Ronnie tried to hide it, Freddie could see in her eyes that she had felt moved when John presented the cotton bouquet to her that evening, and he mentally congratulated himself. Because that villain of a fiance of hers certainly wouldn't have made her feel that way.  
  
"Dog with disease," Freddie muttered under his breath.  
  
Ronnie flipped restlessly onto her side, facing Freddie, and propped herself up on her elbow.   
  
"Why does he do that?" she asked in a low voice.  
  
"Who Roger?" Freddie asked loudly. "The fuck if I know why he complains so much, darling."  
  
"Piss off, Freddie," Roger said sleepily.  
  
"No," Ronnie whispered, glancing at a dark shape on the other side of the fire; John, wrapped tightly in his cloak. "John."  
  
"Why does he do what, darling?" Freddie asked curiously, lowering his voice so that his volume matched hers.  
  
"Kind things for me," Ronnie said, so softly the words were almost inaudible.  
  
Freddie caught himself before he blurted out, _Because he's arse over tea kettle in love with you, my dear!_  
  
Instead he asked casually, "Would you prefer he _not_ do nice things for you?"  
  
Ronnie frowned.  
  
"Because if you prefer, I can ask him to do mischievous Black Queenly things," Freddie offered. "I could ask him to chase you down a well again."  
  
Ronnie sighed and put her head down.  
  
Freddie watched as she blinked up at the stars, clearly troubled in so many ways, and finally, took pity on her.  
  
"He does kind things for you because that's what friends do," he said meaningfully.  
  
Ronnie glanced over at him in surprise, before a smile softened her features.   
  
"Goodnight, Freddie," she said as she rolled away from him.  
  
"Goodnight, darling," Freddie whispered.  
  
One by one, Ronnie's mellow before-bedtime thoughts drifted over to him. She was testing the word _friend_ in her mind and trying to decide if the word applied to her and John.  
  
She was was suddenly wishing Sarina were there, so she could ask her what she had read in John's palm so many weeks ago.  
  
But mostly, she was thinking about the bouquet from earlier that evening and the sweetness she hadn't expected to see in John's smile.  
  
\---  
  
The next morning brought sunshine, though there was the faintest promise of a storm somewhere on the horizon. With this thought in mind, the weary band of travelers hastened to make good time, with every intention of stopping for the evening before the rain came.  
  
At dusk, they found a cave nestled comfortably beneath a rocky outcropping and after ensuring that it belonged to no one else, they promptly moved in.  
  
"Anyone care to join me at The Emerald Bar?" Freddie asked enticingly.  
  
Roger's head shot up.  
  
"The Emerald Bar?" Anita repeated. "You mean to say there's a city nearby?"  
  
"Just over that hill there, my dear," Freddie confirmed and Anita looked hopefully at Brian. If there was indeed a city nearby, they likely had a theater and perhaps an opening for an actress...  
  
A shade of sadness passed through Brian's eyes but he hid it immediately as he knelt upon the floor of the cave and set to work making a fire.  
  
"Go with Freddie," he said kindly. "I'll stay here with Delilah and Brighton."  
  
"Darling, are you sure?" Freddie asked, a flicker of doubt in his voice.  
  
"Very," Brian said as he rubbed two sticks together vigorously. "We can't leave camp unattended."  
  
No one bothered to point out that Deaky would be there to watch over the camp, as he always did. As it was quite clear that Brian simply didn't want to go into the city that would possibly be taking Anita away from him, they let him alone and followed Freddie over the hill.  
  
While Anita nervously ascended the stairs of the grand theater a few streets away, Freddie led Roger and Ronnie into The Emerald Bar, an establishment that was most certainly a bar but in no way green.   
  
Stepping over the threshold, Freddie scanned the room eagerly for a small table for three. As he did so, a familiar face caught his eye.  
  
Frowning, Freddie peered at the handsome man more closely. He was sure he hadn't ever made this man's acquaintance in person, so why did he feel like he had seen those blue eyes and that slick black hair before?  
  
And then the realization dawned on him, bringing with it an uncomfortable wave of horror because he had seen that face often enough in Ronnie's mind and there was absolutely no reason her fiance should be here, in The Emerald Bar, weeks away from his village.  
  
With another woman.  
  
Taking Ronnie by the shoulders, he spun her around towards the exit.  
  
"It's rather crowded in here, wouldn't you agree, darling?" he said quickly as he pushed her towards the door. "I think there's another bar on the other side of the city and that should do quite nicely..."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Roger asked, quite confused. "There's plenty of free tables here!"  
  
Ronnie turned to look over her shoulder, to see if this was indeed the case, and Freddie's heart sunk as her eyes found her fiance and her gaze traveled to his arm, which was wrapped around the waist of a very pretty brunette.  
  
Her thoughts hit him like a battering ram...  
  
 _What's he doing here? And who is that woman and why is he holding her like that? Calm down, Ronnie, it's possible it's just a sister or a cousin or...but wait, he's an only child! The only child of a small family, he likely doesn't even have any cousins. Perhaps I should just go over and say hello? It really isn't my business to ask who this woman is, it's possible she's just a friend...but how can he hold a friend that way when he's never even held me, his own bride-to-be, that way?_  
  
Deciding it was very much her business, Ronnie ran a hand through her unruly curls and walked slowly in his direction.  
  
As Freddie turned away, running a hand down his face, a flash of black on the hill outside the window caught his eye.  
  
Standing on the very top of the hill above the city was a cloaked figure, his arms folded as he leaned against a tree. It was quite obvious who it was; Freddie would know that lean physique and those red wrappings anywhere.  
  
"Watch over her," he whispered to Roger, before he slipped out of the bar.  
  
There really wasn't anything wrong with Deaky observing his surroundings from the safety of the hill; Brian had, without a doubt, encouraged him to partake in a bit of light sightseeing and Deaky, always curious about everything, especially being so removed from civilization, was clearly doing just that.  
  
But if he stayed on the hill too long, he might witness a very upset Ronnie running from the bar and that would, in turn, upset _him._ Freddie knew his friend's feelings about the young schoolteacher now and if Deaky learned what happened while he was standing here on the hill, there was no doubt he would be angry on her behalf. Very angry indeed.  
  
And there were candles burning brightly in the bar, clearly visible from the window, and flames flickering in the street lamps along the lane, and this was not the place to start a magical fire. There were too many people around, too many witnesses...  
  
Freddie strode up the hillside and threw a glance of mock concern up at the sky.  
  
"Darling, perhaps you should go back to the cave," Freddie suggested. "It appears as if the sky is going to fall at any moment!"  
  
Though his face was mostly obscured by his hood, Freddie could still see Deaky's eyes glint suspiciously as he looked up at the sky, which was a lovely shade of evening blush with no evidence of the impending storm.  
  
Freddie sighed. Deaky was no fool.  
  
"Deaky," he said, his tone serious as he put a hand on his friend's arm. "There's no time to explain now but trust me when I say that you need to go back to the cave. For your own safety."  
  
Deaky's white eyes drifted past Freddie, to the bar.  
  
"She's _fine,"_ Freddie lied as he gently pushed John further into the trees. "We won't be long, I promise you, darling!"  
  
And knowing there was some serious damage being done in The Emerald Bar, Freddie hurried back down the hill and burst unceremoniously through the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting an entire day early! Let's just say I've had a lot of time to write this week (thank you, ankle injury). But apparently not enough time to not leave you on a slight cliffhanger - sorry 'bout that!
> 
> Thank you for reading!! <3


	8. Chapter 8

After Ronnie tapped him on the shoulder, Valentino had turned around and promptly choked on his beer upon seeing her standing there before him.   
  
And then, with an apologetic whisper to the pretty brunette, he had taken Ronnie by the hand and sat her down at an empty table, where she was now listening to him explain himself in a very round-about way. Sighing, she folded her arms impatiently as Valentino continued his long-winded story.  
  
"Village life just isn't for me, you see? I knew it the moment I stepped out on that field to fight the ogre-men that I'd be crazed to stay in that tiny, insignificant little place that no one has ever heard of for the rest of...well, forever...and for what? To pick corn and milk cows and be trapped in a little cottage every night when I could be out exploring the land and embarking on fearsome, brave expeditions? So I said, no sir, not me, and I bid my parents a fond farewell and left the village shortly after you did, and I've been traveling ever since, and it's the best decision I've ever made, and if I hadn't made it I wouldn't feel this _free_ or this alive or..."

The bartender interrupted Valentino's soliloquy by placing a mug of cold beer down between them.   
  
"For you, from the blonde gentleman over yonder," he rasped to Ronnie.  
  
Ronnie turned her head in the direction the bartender had indicated and saw Roger and Freddie huddled at a table together, watching her carefully. When her eyes met Roger's, he gave her an encouraging thumbs up.  
  
Valentino grasped the handle and raised the mug towards Roger. "Cheers! Thank you, mate!" And he took a long, hearty swig of the golden liquid.  
  
Roger leapt out of his chair, his face turning red, but Freddie wrapped his arms around the drummer's waist and dragged him back down to his seat, before looking out the window with a concerned expression.  
  
Not wishing to hear any more of Valentino's philosophy on life, Ronnie turned away from her two friends and said in a cool voice, "So you've left the village and you're a traveling adventurer. Where does that leave me?"  
  
Valentino sighed and pushed the beer mug away. "It leaves you at the village."  
  
Ronnie bit her lip uncertainly. She hadn't been expecting Valentino to say he had wanted her to travel all over Nevermore as his adventuring bride, but it was still a knife in her ribs that he apparently held no qualms about leaving her behind.  
  
Also, it was slowly dawning on her that if Valentino had wished to leave the village ever since he returned from the Ogre Battle, and that was around the time they had started dating, then it had been his intent to leave her all along...   
  
"You were planning on leaving the village this entire time?" 

"Well, yes," Valentino said, as if it were the simplest thing in the word.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me before I left on this journey?" Ronnie asked sharply. "You could have saved me the trouble."  
  
"Because I thought the journey would do you good," Valentino said bluntly. "You were always hiding behind a book, Ronnie. At the least, it certainly wouldn't have done you any harm to get out and see the world at least once." He thought about it for a moment, before adding, "You're welcome."  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, Ronnie saw Freddie, still looking out the window, rise from his chair and stomp out of the bar.  
  
"You n-never loved me," she said in a low, unsteady voice.  
  
"Now Ronnie," Valentino said, his voice placating as he patted her hand, which was curled into a fist on the table. "I wouldn't say that. I loved you to a point."  
  
"To a _point?"_ Ronnie felt her nostrils flare dangerously.  
  
"Well, yes, the way one loves an old, faithful hound dog, I suppose..." Valentino said, ignorant of the effect his words were having on the woman sitting across from him. "You've been a good friend through it all and..."  
  
"If you only saw me as a friend, then why did you ask me to marry you?" Ronnie interrupted angrily, though she feared his answer.  
  
"My parents made me," Valentino replied, his voice calm. "They wanted me to settle down. And they knew how worried your parents were about your unmarried status and advancing age..."  
  
Ronnie's mouth dropped open. _Advancing age?_  
  
"A win-win," Valentino finished with a shrug. "For everyone except me."  
  
Ronnie felt her lower lip trembling and she bit down hard on it, before saying in scathing voice, "You shouldn't have asked me if it wasn't what you wanted!"  
  
"If I hadn't, my parents would have known my plan to leave," Valentino pointed out, as if his well-laid plans to flee the village were more important than Ronnie's feelings.  
  
Ronnie clamped a hand over her mouth and looked back over at Roger, needing to see a friendly face. But Roger's eyebrows were pulled down angrily over eyes of steely blue and he rose halfway out of his seat when he saw the tears that were burning brightly in her eyes.  
  
Wishing to avoid a confrontation, Ronnie gave a slight shake of her head and Roger collapsed back into his chair, disappointed.  
  
"I really did like you at first," Valentino said, as if this were some sort of consolation. "When we came home from the battle and you were standing there in that white dress, looking so proud and..."  
  
Ronnie remembered it well but she banished the memory to the deepest depths of her mind, where it would hopefully stay buried for the rest of all time. She fixed Valentino with a fierce stare, a feeling of pleasure bubbling up in her stomach when he leaned back in his chair, thoroughly unnerved.  
  
"And _her?"_ Ronnie asked, nodding towards the corner, where the pretty brunette was watching them curiously.  
  
Valentino's eyes softened. "My fellow adventurer in life."  
  
Ronnie swallowed a scream, before she rose to her feet, suddenly feeling claustrophobic, like the walls of The Emerald Bar were closing in on her.  
  
Valentino's fingers inched towards her own, which were now splayed out on the table as she leaned against it for support because her legs felt weak.  
  
As he laid his hand over her own, he said in a low voice, "Come with us. There's no reason you have to go back to the village. Travel with us, see that the world is so much bigger than those books you're so obsessed with."  
  
Ronnie heard the rattling of a chain and looked up at the ceiling to see the chandelier trembling as it spun around, the flames of the candles within the glass holders flickering dangerously.  
  
"She's taught me all about free love," Valentino continued, with no more than a passing glance at the chandelier. "And Ronnie, it's life changing." He lowered his voice to a whisper as he squeezed her fingers. "We could teach you. We could _show_ you. You would never suffer loneliness in the middle of the night, with us there..."  
  
He cried out in sudden pain as Ronnie grasped his middle finger, twisted it viciously, and held it hostage in the air. Leaning over him, she grasped the back of his chair, her eyes blazing.  
  
"I've been tramping through the forest for an entire month, risking attack and illness and all sorts of other horrible things, and I've been doing it all for _you,"_ she hissed, "and that's the best you can offer me after what you've done? Is that your way of making this better? Sexual relations in the dark?" She shook her head as her throat burned with anguish. "I hope you live happily ever after with your harlot! And on the nights you get bored with her, perhaps you'll find a goat to freely share your love, though even a goat is far too good for the likes of _you!"_  
  
She had single-handedly crushed his manly pride, as well as his finger, and his face warped into a sneer of outrage as his free hand shot forward and he gripped her golden-red locks between unforgiving fingers, yanking her head closer to him.  
  
And that's when the chandelier fell.  
  
The sounds of people screaming and of glass breaking filled the air as Valentino released her in shock and scrambled after the rest of the bar patrons who were running for the exit, making sure to grab the pretty brunette on his way out. Looking over her shoulder, Ronnie saw Roger fighting through the swarm of people, trying to get to her, but she was much too stunned to move.  
  
And so she stood among the broken fragments and the extinguished candlesticks as she brushed back the hair that Valentino had seized and tried to figure out how to deal with the deep ache that was settling within her heart. Glancing down, she saw the mug that was still three-quarters filled with beer, and snatching it up, she drank fully and deeply, trying to ignore the initial taste of Valentino's own lips on the glass.  
  
She drained the mug, made a face because she had never actually tasted beer before, and slammed it down on the table. And then, feeling tears prickling her eyes, she covered her face with her hands.  
  
A moment or two passed before a soft, familiar voice penetrated the sadness in Ronnie's mind.  
  
 _Baby you've been had..._  
  
John's words were like fingers prying her hands from her eyes and she was forced to turn and look at him and show him every ounce of misery she was feeling. His eyes burned in the dimness of the bar, but his face was lined with empathy as he held out his hand to her.  
  
Ronnie faintly wondered where he had come from, before deciding it really wasn't important. As silence fell over the empty bar, Ronnie stepped carefully over the fragments of broken glass, stumbled around the shattered chandelier, and ran across the room...  
  
...and directly into John's waiting arms.  
  
\---  
  
Freddie had been sitting very close to Roger within the bar, watching over Ronnie and trying to calculate when it would be appropriate to interfere and how best to rescue her from the king of the sleaze who was so obviously breaking her heart...perhaps a thump on his skull, or smashing a glass over his head, or shoving one of Roger's magical drumsticks in less than desirable places...  
  
He was pulled from his vengeful planning when he heard a creaking noise from behind. Glancing over his shoulder, he frowned as long white fingers with black fingernails slowly opened the window and a single, purely white eye appeared and rested on Ronnie's miserable face.  
  
"Stay here," Freddie whispered in Roger's ear, "and don't do anything stupid!"  
  
Hurrying from the bar, Freddie charged around the corner and came upon a figure in black crouched below the windowsill, his hood pulled up to hide his face.  
  
"Deaky!" Freddie hissed as he fell to his knees beside his friend, seizing a fistful of cloak and turning him around. "What did I tell you!"  
  
Deaky's face darkened as he inclined his head towards the window. Towards _Ronnie,_ Freddie knew.  
  
"The situation is quite under control!"  
  
Deaky gave him a look of pure doubt, before he turned away, grasping the windowsill and lifting his weight slightly in order to look into the bar.  
  
A frightful wind whistled through the trees, warning of the impending storm and muffling whatever words Ronnie and The Shark were uttering. But he had a feeling that Deaky had still heard the exchange; his upper lip curled down in disgust as one eyebrow arched threateningly over a white eye.  
  
With a terrible feeling of foreboding prodding his ribs uncomfortably, Freddie grabbed Deaky once more and wrenched him down to the ground.  
  
"You must realize that you cannot be seen!" Freddie admonished him fiercely. "And you cannot afford to cause any damage! Darling, this won't do anything for your reputation!"  
  
Deaky stared at him defiantly.   
  
"Well you should care!" Freddie retorted, as he experienced a sudden premonition of white eyes glowing red, of candlestick flames leaping twice their height, of curtains and beams catching fire, of the entire establishment burning to the ground...  
  
...and Deaky be hauled away in chains to answer for his crimes.  
  
And Freddie, feeling his foreboding transforming into full-fledged alarm, rose to his knees while swatting Deaky away and sticking his head through the window, blew out all the candles on the table beneath the window.  
  
He was feeling quite pleased with himself for taking the appropriate steps to deescalating a potentially hazardous situation, when his gaze found light high above the bar patrons, and he saw the chandelier.  
  
The chandelier that was lit with dozens of candles.  
  
Freddie suddenly felt Deaky hovering behind him, peering over his shoulder, his white eyes fixed on Ronnie, who had just covered her mouth with her hand and looked over at Roger with eyes that were filled with unshed tears.  
  
Freddie jumped to his feet and turning swiftly, threw out his arms and blocked the window from Deaky's view.  
  
Deaky shook his head anxiously as he stood and grasped Freddie's sleeves, trying to move him out of the way, but Freddie would not budge.  
  
"Listen to me, darling," he said in a low voice as he gripped Deaky's wrists. "She is _safe._ Roger is in there looking out for her."  
  
He realized much too late that was the wrong thing to say; Roger was currently Deaky's enemy and Deaky would not want to leave Ronnie's protection up to him alone. In fact, the bassist's fingers were trembling as they entwined themselves in the fabric of Freddie's shirt, and Freddie saw clearly the exclamation in the bassist's mind that she was _not_ safe.  
  
"We cannot risk you reacting to what's happening inside!" Freddie said sternly. "We can't have you burning the bar down, darling!"  
  
Deaky frowned, his eyes flashing with indignation.  
  
"You know as well as I do that your magic is dangerous when you're angry!" Fredde said, his voice firm.   
  
Deaky lunged for the window and Freddie caught him in his arms, feeling his friend's heart hammering against his own.  
  
"I know you don't want to leave her, darling, but that's the best thing you can do for her at this moment," Freddie said, forcing softness into his voice though his arms were wrapped in a death grip around Deaky's torso.  
  
Freddie searched Deaky's mind for any indication that his words had made a difference but instead of finding any sign of surrender, he received instead an unsettling (and quite frankly, unwanted) front row seat to the confrontation inside. He watched, through Deaky's eyes, as Ronnie loomed over the dastardly bastard, fury lining her lovely face as she berated him and distorted his unworthy finger.  
  
Pride swelled within Freddie's chest, but this pride was quickly squashed by anxiety as he perceived Deaky becoming very aware of Ronnie's crumbling psychological state, and Deaky's thoughts thrashing about like a caged bird, and Deaky's entire body beginning to tremble...  
  
Freddie, deciding it would be very foolish indeed to let Deaky out of his grasp, reached behind and groped blindly for his eyes instead. It was imperative that he cover the bassist's eyes before they glowed red, before they manipulated the nearest flame, before he managed to neatly and effortlessly endanger his own security.   
  
Yet Freddie only succeeded in capturing Deaky's prominent nose and turning in frustration, he saw the villainous arsewipe inside grab Ronnie's hair and yank her forward. A the exact same moment, the candle flames in the chandelier blazed like shooting stars up towards the ceiling, licking the golden chain that suspended said chandelier in place.  
  
Freddie grasped Deaky's chin and turned his head away from the chandelier, but it was too late. As the clouds overhead turned into a threatening shade of gray, the red in Deaky's eyes disappeared and the flames melted the golden chain of the chandelier, severing it from the ceiling.  
  
It fell to the floor with a most unsettling crash, scattering people and tables alike. As the bar patrons dashed madly from the building, Deaky replaced his hood, which had fallen off in the confrontation with Freddie, and rushed into The Emerald Bar.  
  
Freddie followed without hesitation, his nerves singed just as badly as the curtains. As he pushed past the wall of people storming towards him, he saw Roger, both drumsticks lit and held above his head.  
  
Catching him by his collar, Freddie exclaimed, "And where do you think you're going?"  
  
Roger's eyes flashed with rage. "I'm going to kill him!"  
  
With a sigh, Freddie let him go. It would be no less than what the poisonous toad deserved after the fuckery he had just conducted. 

Walking through the doorway of the bar (for the door had been torn off it's hinges by sheer hysteria), Freddie stopped short when he saw that Ronnie and Deaky were the only two figures in the now empty establishment.  
  
Sympathy pierced his heart ceaselessly as he watched the poor White Queen bury her face in her hands, her thoughts on fire.  
  
 _White Queen how my heart did ache_ , he thought sadly to himself, though it was likely nothing compared to how she was feeling at this very moment.   
  
She hadn't yet noticed Deaky, who was quite a distance away and had turned to Freddie with an uncertain look on his face.  
  
"It's all right, darling," Freddie whispered encouragingly, as he waved his hands to shoo him closer.  
  
Deaky shook his head, his thoughts telling Freddie that he was fearful she wouldn't want him to touch her, that she would be afraid if he tried to comfort her.

Freddie shook his head and stepped back so that he was standing in the doorway. "She needs you," he mouthed meaningfully.

Turning back, Deaky took a deep, unsteady breath and whispered into her mind the only song lyric that he could currently think of.

_Baby, you've been had..._

And oh, she had certainly been had, Freddie thought bitterly to himself as he watched her look up in surprise and hesitate. And then, with eyes that were dark with sadness, she braved the debris on the floor and launched herself into Deaky's arms with the force of a freight train.  
  
Deaky caught her neatly and held her as tightly as he could as she buried her head in his shoulder. She made no noise, yet Freddie knew she was crying her poor little heart out by the way her shoulders were shaking violently and by the way her fingers continuously twisted themselves into the fabric of Deaky's cloak, as if to remind herself that someone was there, that she didn't have to face her heartache alone.  
  
And Deaky, the poor darling, was desperately wishing he could comfort her with words, but that was impossible and as there were no song lyrics he considered appropriate enough for the present moment, he settled for body language. Freddie thought he was doing a damn good job of it, with one arm wrapped firmly around her, anchoring her to his body, as if she would melt into a puddle of grief if he loosened his grip. His other hand cradled her head against his chest, his fingers entwined in her hair, the black fingernails a sharp contrast against the light color of her curls. But then her sobs intensified and he was obliged to encircle her with both arms so that she was completely enveloped in his embrace.  
  
Wishing to give the White Queen and the Black Queen a moment alone together, Freddie turned and settled himself onto what he hoped was a sturdy barrel outside the door. As thunder rumbled in the distance, he silently praised Deaky for taking Anita's advice and creating a safe haven for Ronnie. Her relationship had fallen to pieces all around her (along with glass and candlesticks, thanks to a most shocking display by one John Deacon) and there was no doubt that the poor dear hadn't felt emotionally stable before Deaky had found her.  
  
But she felt safe now; Freddie had seen the soft glow that safety was creating in her mind and in her heart and he sighed. They really had a remarkable empathy for one another, one that Ronnie had clearly been feeling ever since the night Deaky had told her his story. It was a shame that empathy kept getting tangled in her feelings of distrust and fear.   
  
Freddie jumped suddenly as a warning bell tolled in the distance. His eyes searched his surroundings for any sign of law enforcement coming to investigate the fallen chandelier, but he only saw more signs of general alarm as people ran from different directions, colliding with each other and causing all sorts of mayhem.  
  
He tapped his chin thoughtfully and watched with interest, until a familiar red-head emerged from the crowd.  
  
"Anita!" he exclaimed, catching her by the elbows as she stumbled towards him. "Anita, what's happened, darling?"  
  
He gently pressed his thumb against a tear that was forming in the corner of her eye.  
  
"I was offered a job," she whispered.  
  
"Why, that's wonderful!" Freddie exclaimed. "Congratulations, darling!"  
  
"And then I lost it because..." Anita looked over her shoulder, in the direction of the tolling bell, before facing Freddie once more. "...because a case of The Great Sickness has just been discovered in town. We need to leave _now."_  
  
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Freddie muttered. "Roger's out there somewhere."   
  
Taking Anita by the hand and pulling her into the doorway of the bar, he nodded towards Deaky and Ronnie. "Take them back to the cave, won't you, darling? We won't be far behind."   
  
And with that being said, he rushed out into the wave of people to find his impulsive friend.  
  
\---  
  
A deep roar of thunder in the distance, pierced by the incessant clanging of that infernal bell, slowly brought Ronnie back to herself. As her sobs subsided into the occasional hiccup or two, she lifted her head from John's shoulder and saw Anita in the doorway, her expression soft with compassion.  
  
Now that the initial shock of Valentino's betrayal was behind her, she felt embarrassment settling into the hollow of her belly as she looked down at John's soaked shoulder. She felt his fingers trailing down her back uncertainly as he sensed her coming back to the present and his fingertips sent a shiver down her spine.  
  
And yet she was reluctant to move because this is what she had always imagined love might feel like. Safety and warmth, an unwavering protection, an unquestionable support. She had _never_ been held, or even touched, the way she had now, in John's arms...  
  
She shook the thought from her head immediately. Friendship may have unexpectedly linked her with the Black Queen, but love certainly hadn't.   
  
_And wouldn't ever,_ she told herself firmly. _Love be damned!_ The Great Sickness could swallow it whole, for all she cared. She realized now that she had never known love and as the village spinster, she knew she wouldn't ever be so lucky.  
  
Anita approached then and gently pushed her and Deaky towards the back door of the bar. "We must go," she whispered as they stepped over broken glass and chunks of candlesticks. "The Great Sickness has spread to this town and everyone is fleeing."  
  
Feeling as if she were caught in a terrible dream, Ronnie allowed Anita and Deaky to push her up the hill and guide her through the trees. She felt numb, but not numb enough that she didn't notice John's hand in hers as he helped her over fallen branches and across small chasms in the earth.  
  
They reached the cave in the nick of time, just as the rain began to fall in sheets and bolts of lightning shot across the sky. She allowed Anita to sit her by the fire and put a comforting arm around her, though she found herself avoiding Brian's questioning eyes, instead welcoming the heavy but reassuring weight of Delilah's head as she placed it sympathetically in Ronnie's lap.   
  
And there she sat, enclosed in the cave's safety, warmed by the flames, and surrounded by friends, yet wishing she were anywhere else.  
  
\---  
  
Freddie grit his teeth together as he was continuously pelted by rain and felt an icy weariness sinking into his very bones, only to be interrupted from his thoughts of miserable discomfort by Roger seizing his cloak.  
  
"Did you see what he did to her!?" Roger roared, his voice momentarily louder than the clap of thunder that sounded overhead.  
  
Freddie wondered why Roger had decided to bring that up now, when he could have done so ten minutes before, when they weren't yet trying to navigate a treacherously slippery forest floor. Or better yet, why he couldn't have waited until they were safe and dry.  
  
"Au contraire," Freddie replied smoothly. "I was trying to keep Deaky from flaming the joint."  
  
Roger released Freddie and continued to stamp through the wet leaves "Fire breathing dragon," he muttered.  
  
"Yet you trusted him," Freddie remarked.  
  
"What are you talking about!"   
  
"The moment you saw Deaky go to Ronnie, you knew she was in good hands and you left to avenge her," Freddie noted.  
  
Roger opened his mouth to protest and realizing he didn't have a good enough argument against the statement, he instead pressed his lips together tightly with a soft, "hmmph!"  
  
Lightning lit the entire sky at that moment and Freddie grasped Roger's cloak and hurried him along the forest path, not wishing to be electrified.

When they finally stumbled into the cave, soaked to the skin and clutching each other with frozen fingers, Roger's first order of business was to drop to one knee before Ronnie and apologize that he hadn't succeeded in disemboweling her wanker of an ex-fiance like he had originally planned. Ronnie managed a most pitiful smile and whispered that it was all right.  
  
After that, no one spoke. The band of weary travelers gathered close together around the fire as the storm raged on and watched as lightning zigzagged across the sky and rain created impressive streams across the landscape.  
  
Thanks to the silence, everyone's thoughts were louder than usual, and Freddie's eyes drifted lazily to Deaky, who was occasionally shooting worried glances at Ronnie, gauging whether she might cry again and if he should be near, just in case. Ronnie, on the other hand, was carefully refusing to look at him, too mortified by her blatant show of emotion earlier, as well as what she considered to be a severe lack of restraint.  
  
 _But darling,_ he thought sadly to himself, _it_ _was so natural of you to turn to him._  
  
After politely refusing a bowl of stew, Ronnie excused herself for the night and curled up in the most remote corner of the cave, her cloak wrapped tightly around her.  
  
Once he was reasonably sure she was asleep, Brian leaned forward and asked in a low, concerned voice, "What happened?"   
  
Freddie and Roger exchanged a glance, before Freddie sighed and told all.  
  
\---  
  
The storm eventually gave way to calm and the next morning dawned bright and clear. As the first rays of sunlight slipped into the cave, Anita pulled _Guide to Prostitution_ from her traveling bag and, stepping over the bodies of her sleeping companions, crept outside.  
  
Finding a rock that was relatively dry, Anita sat upon it and tried to give herself a moment to sort out her thoughts, something she couldn't do when she was surrounded by the five vastly different personalities she was traveling with, along with a tiger hellbent on affection and a small, friendly badger.  
  
As she ran light fingers over the red leather cover of the small book she was holding, Anita tried to reassure herself that her situation was not yet dire enough to warrant turning to the _Guide to Prostitution_ for help. But a small voice in the back of her mind warned her that it _would_ become dire if she didn't find work soon. The money from her last paycheck was slowly dwindling and before long, there would be none left.   
  
The cold, hard truth was that she wasn't having luck finding a job; with the Great Sickness unfurling across the land, she wouldn't be able to find work even as a barmaid, let alone an actress. Poverty was near at hand and she was much too proud to rely on charity from friends. She would have to find a way to support herself, one way or the other, even if it came down to...  
  
Anita opened the book to the first chapter, which was titled _Preventing and Treating Sexually Acquired Diseases._ She closed her eyes, her stomach heaving dangerously at the very thought.  
  
"Anita?" a soft voice whispered.  
  
Anita's breath caught in her throat in surprise and snapping the small book closed, she shoved it under her hip and turned to see Brian standing behind her, his eyes clearly worried.  
  
"Is everything all right?" he asked quietly.  
  
Anita tried to push thoughts of diseases and strange sexual partners out of her mind. "Of c-course," she stammered.  
  
Brian gave her a look that clearly said he didn't believe that for a moment, but thankfully, was prevented from inquiring further by the appearance of a very distraught Ronnie, followed by a very persistent Freddie.  
  
"Darling, you can't!" Freddie exclaimed.  
  
"Oh, yes I can!" Ronnie retorted.  
  
"You cannot! I..." Freddie paused a moment to think of exactly what he was going to do about the situation, before adding, "I forbid it!"  
  
Ronnie spun around. "You _forbid_ it?"  
  
"Yes," Freddie confirmed.  
  
"You...you can't!" Ronnie spluttered in disbelief.  
  
"Well, I just did," Freddie said, stepping out of the cave.  
  
Anita saw two pairs of eyes, one pair pure white and the other blue, peeking out of the cave. Apparently, with their vision no longer obstructed by Freddie's lean torso, Deaky and Roger were taking advantage of the view.  
  
"Freddie, please!" Ronnie pleaded, pressing her hands together in insistent prayer. "Please let me go home!"  
  
"And let you give up on your quest?" Freddie asked, as if it were the most outrageous thing he'd ever heard. "Never!"  
  
"There's no _point_ in completing it!" Ronnie protested. "There's no _point_ in traveling all the way to the Virgin Forest to pick a flower because when I get home, I won't have anyone to give it to!"  
  
"Perhaps you could save the flower?" Brian suggested reasonably. "That way, when you're proposed to again, you'll have already done the journey and you'll already have the flower."  
  
"Excellent idea, Brian!" Freddie agreed, before turning back to Ronnie. "Save that flower for a rainy day, my dear!"  
  
"No!" Ronnie shook her head. "No, you don't understand! There won't be another proposal!"  
  
"Nonsense," Freddie said sensibly. "A lovely young woman such as yourself will no doubt..."  
  
 _"No!"_ Ronnie said again, this time more forcefully. "All the men in the village that are my age are already married!"  
  
"You could marry younger," Roger advised from the entrance of the cave. "Or older."  
  
"The older men are married, too. And the younger men...they're _too_ young. They're practically still boys. Valentino was the only..." Ronnie made a frustrated noise deep in her throat and folding her arms, looked away.  
  
Freddie inched closer and put a comforting hand on her arm. "What about the men outside your village?"  
  
Anita could have sworn she saw his eyes flicker towards the cave, in Deaky's direction, but perhaps it had only been her imagination...  
  
"I don't know any men outside my village," Ronnie said hopelessly.  
  
"The last I checked, I'm a man," Roger pointed out helpfully.  
  
Ronnie sighed and lifted her chin, looking Freddie directly in the eye. "I _am_ going home. And while I'm grateful for the help you've all given me thus far, you're not obligated to escort me."

She brushed past him, to fetch her things from the cave, and Anita watched curiously as a look of panic flashed across Freddie's face. He turned urgently to Brian, widening his eyes in a plea for help.  
  
Brian cleared his throat. "But Ronnie, it wouldn't be safe for you to travel back the way we came. The Great Sickness has affected the majority of the towns and cities in that direction."  
  
Ronnie, stopping at the cave's entrance and turning, said simply, "I'll stick to the woods and avoid civilization."  
  
"But you're a month away from home!" Roger informed her. "You need to eat!"  
  
"I'll make my provisions last," Ronnie assured him, before adding darkly, "And besides, I think I've permanently lost my appetite."  
  
"You certainly have not!" Freddie said loudly. "You forget that I can read your mind, darling, and you, quite frankly, are starving."  
  
He was clearly trying to distract her long enough to delay her departure while they thought of ways to detain her, though Anita couldn't understand why they were trying so hard to prevent her from going home.   
  
"What?" Ronnie whispered in surprise.  
  
Freddie provided them all with an inventory of Ronnie's current feelings. "You're hungry, you're heartbroken, you're weary, you're slightly hungover, but yearning for home, you are not!"  
  
"You forgot one thing," Ronnie said, her voice very quiet.  
  
"And what's that, darling?"  
  
"I'm also a fool," Ronnie said bluntly.  
  
 _But that's not true.  
  
_ Ronnie looked to her right as Deaky's disembodied voice filled the cold morning air. His fingers were clamped so tightly around the rocky edge of the cave that his knuckles were white, but the look he was aiming at Ronnie was very soft.  
  
Anita saw fierce concern fill Freddie's eyes as he stared at his friend and it suddenly dawned on her what Freddie was trying to do. She glanced at Brian, who confirmed her thought with a small nod.  
  
While it was true Freddie didn't want Ronnie to go home because he was concerned for her well being and he didn't want her to give up the fight, there was also another very important consideration at hand. If Ronnie went home, it was unlikely they'd find another woman in white to break the curse.  
  
If Ronnie went home, Deaky didn't stand a chance.  
  
Freddie made one last desperate attempt to change Ronnie's mind. "Darling, you don't know the way!"  
  
Ronnie finally tore her eyes from Deaky's and fixed Freddie with a distraught stare that matched his own.   
  
"Which is why I need your help," she said softly. _"Please_ , Freddie. I'm asking you as a friend."

Anita watched as Freddie winced and placed a hand against his heart and she knew he would never be able to violate the sacred rite of friendship.  
  
"Very well," he said gravely.


	9. Chapter 9

Freddie spent the better part of the morning, as well as all afternoon, at war with his own mind.  
  
The carefree part of his conscience was perched on his left shoulder; a smaller version of himself adorned with bushy brown hair, mischievous eyes, a ravishing mustache, and...devil horns. He was busy dusting off his red unitard because he simply couldn't have filth hiding the magnificent eyes that lined his tight, bright outfit, and...  
  
 _Just switch directions,_ Devil Freddie was saying as he lovingly traced the eye that was situated over his right pectoral muscle. _She doesn't know the way home; she'll never know.  
_  
The guilty, pious part of Freddie's conscience snorted. Standing on his right shoulder with hands planted firmly on his hips, he was just as small as Devil Freddie, only he was wearing a white pleated top that resembled wings - or perhaps an accordion - and neat white trousers. A halo circled his head.  
  
 _Nonsense, darling,_ Angel Freddie said as he flicked his long, dark hair over his shoulder. _She'll know you're lying to her. You're a terrible liar, you know._  
  
 _Once she figures out you're lying, you'll be too far gone in the opposite direction for her to do anything about it,_ Devil Freddie pointed out. _She'll have no choice but to help Deaky._  
  
Angel Freddie gasped. _How terribly dishonest! Don't do it, darling. She's placed her trust in you; you should know how fragile a thing trust is, after watching Deaky try to earn it himself._  
  
 _Trust be damned!_ Devil Freddie got to his knees and peered around Freddie's chin to get a good look at Angel Freddie. _Playing nice isn't going to save Deaky, my dear!  
_  
 _Deceiving the White Queen isn't going to save Deaky either!_ Angel Freddie retorted.  
  
Devil Freddie grasped Freddie's earlobe and whispered into the dark canal that led to his inner ear. _All you have to do, darling, is turn right at the next fork. Turn right instead of left and no one will be the wiser. It's so easy.  
_  
"It's so easy," Freddie agreed, "but I can't do it."  
  
"Come again?" Brian asked, tearing his eyes away from the leaf-scattered forest floor.  
  
"Nothing," Freddie muttered.  
  
 _What kind of attitude is that, darling?_ Devil Freddie demanded. _Of course you can do it!_  
  
Angel Freddie poked Freddie insistently in the jaw. _Friends will be friends, dear. Don't you dare defile the sacred rite of friendship by lying to her!  
_  
Devil Freddie flapped his hand dismissively. _A little white lie._  
  
Angel Freddie shook his head. _You mean outright villainy!_  
  
Devil Freddie scowled. _Pious and pitiful, as always._  
  
Angel Freddie put a thumb up his nose and waggled his fingers, while singing in a high pitched voice, _Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me...  
_  
Devil Freddie's face was turning a shade of red that perfectly matched his unitard. _How dare you!_  
  
Angel Freddie batted his eyelashes sweetly. _For me..._  
  
Devil Freddie let out a decidedly devil-like growl. _Oh, piss off, won't you?_  
  
Angel Freddie broke into a falsetto that matched Roger's perfectly. _For meeeeeee!_  
  
Devil Freddie grabbed a small piece of lint from Freddie's cloak and hurled it towards Angel Freddie. It hit him in the chest, knocking him onto his arse.  
  
 _Oh, go choke on your moostache!_ Angel Freddie cried out, before indignantly sticking his nose in the air.  
  
Devil Freddie pulled a strand of Freddie's hair out of his head and brandished it threateningly. _Why don't you grow one? Angelic sod!  
_  
Before Devil Freddie could dash across his clavicle and strangle Angel Freddie with the wayward hair follicle, Freddie grit his teeth and said loudly, "I won't do it! And that's that!"  
  
"Won't do _what?"_ Roger asked, thoroughly confused.   
  
"Never you mind, darling," Freddie said as he glanced over his shoulder to check on Ronnie and Deaky, who had seemingly missed the battle of good versus evil that had played out on his shoulders.  
  
"Well if you've quite finished going slightly mad," Roger said tersely, drawing Freddie's attention back to him, "I think we have another problem."  
  
He jabbed a thumb at the sky, which was an alarming shade of charcoal.  
  
Knowing they had perhaps only moments to find shelter, the not-so-merry band of travelers emerged from the forest, hurried across a vast meadow, and began the long climb up the hill ahead.  
  
Freddie chanced another glance over his shoulder with a frown. Ronnie was looking awfully pale, the poor dear. Now, as she trudged weakly up the hill, her arms were wrapped around herself as she kept her eyes on the ground, thoughts of spinsterhood occupying her mind.  
  
Freddie turned back to the important business of navigating the hill safely, as the incline had become rather steep; almost vertical, in fact, and completely made up of a slippery silt.   
  
He noted to himself with interest that Ronnie was carefully keeping her distance from Deaky, though he didn't seem concerned in the least by her aloofness; his eyes merely followed her around with a softness, always watching, lest she fall apart again.  
  
Which she didn't. She...  
  
Freddie was pulled from his study of the White Queen by a cry of alarm. Whipping around, he watched as Ronnie slipped on a wet portion of silt, lost her balance, and began to slide down the hill on her belly, her fingers leaving lines in the sandy clay as she struggled to stop her downward momentum.  
  
Very luckily, Deaky just so happened to be behind her and he caught her before she could skid all the way to the very bottom of the hill. With his hands planted firmly on her hips, he hoisted her a few inches up the hill, assisting her with regaining her footing and letting her know with the pressure of his fingertips that he was there, he was behind her, and it was safe for her to proceed.  
  
 _Touche, darling,_ Freddie thought proudly as he admired Deaky's deft fingers and quick mind. As he arrived at the top of the hill and stepped back to wait for the others, he wondered to himself if Deaky really needed his help, after all.  
  
 _He does,_ Devil Freddie said matter-of-factly as he tied the hair follicle around his waist in a neat bow, a weapon for future use.  
  
 _He doesn't,_ Angel Freddie argued dreamily, resting his cheek against the soft pillow of Freddie's ear lobe and watching as Ronnie appeared, exhausted from her climb.  
  
She turned to Deaky and thanked him, very quietly, before a strange look passed over her face.  
  
And then she fainted.  
  
\---  
  
Brian, having conquered the hill first thanks to his long legs, leaned against a white sycamore tree and observed the sky while he waited for the others. He had assisted Anita with the remainder of her climb but had left Roger to his own devices; ever since it was announced that Ronnie would be going home, he had grown exceedingly crabby and Brian hoped that being forced to navigate the hill by himself would dampen the fire in his spirit.  
  
No such luck. As Roger crested the top of the hill, he fell to his knees dramatically and shot a look of blue steel at Freddie, who was murmuring to himself again, this time about lost opportunities, ex-fiances, and why hadn't they ripped the bloody bobcat's cock off when they had a chance?  
  
Sighing, Brian looked to the sky again and tried to discern how much time they had before the rain drenched them. Anita's light fingers on his arm pulled his attention away from the storm clouds and he turned his head in time to see Deaky catching Ronnie in his arms.  
  
As the appropriate alarm bells went off in his mind, Brian ran across the clearing, though he felt like he was moving in slow motion. Just as he was cursing his tired body for not being fast enough, Roger suddenly stepped in front of him, pulled out his drumstick, and aimed it at Deaky.  
  
Roger clearly had no intention of moving out of the way and it was too late for Brian to slow his momentum. Calmly accepting his fate, he tripped over Roger's foot, sailed through the air, and landed neatly on his knees beside Ronnie.  
  
"Fucking brilliant, darling," Freddie murmured in appreciation. "Do you think we could recreate that on stage?"  
  
"What have you done!" Roger growled, the drumstick trembling in his hand. Deaky lowered Ronnie gently to the ground, ignoring the drummer and the stick that was pointed at his heart.  
  
Freddie looked up at Roger, fixed in a fighting stance, and rolled his eyes in dismay. "Oh, come now, darling! You know poor Deaky has done nothing!"  
  
"Quite right," Brian agreed as he placed the back of his hand against Ronnie's hot forehead, and then upon her reddened cheeks. "She's burning with fever."  
  
"Poor dear," Freddie murmured sympathetically as Anita knelt beside him and took one of Ronnie's hands. "She hasn't looked quite like herself all day."  
  
A wet nose appeared as Delilah nudged Ronnie's arm, looked up the sky, and growled softly.  
  
"Yes, you're completely right, Delilah," Freddie agreed. "We must get her to safety before the storm begins."  
  
"Very well," Roger said, pocketing his drumstick and crouching beside Ronnie. "I'll carry her."  
  
Deaky's head snapped up and he shook his head, indicating that wouldn't be necessary.  
  
"Let Deaky carry her, darling," Freddie said gently to Roger. "He's...erm...taller."  
  
Of course, that was no reason for Deaky to be the chosen one but he could hardly tell Roger how much it would mean to Deaky to be the one to carry her to safety. Deaky's cheeks would burn with embarrassment and Roger wouldn't understand in his current state of renewed paranoia.  
  
"Yes, but I'm safer," Roger insisted. "I won't accidentally burn her to a crisp as we journey through the forest."  
  
Deaky's upper lip curled in resentment as he stared at Roger with a white hot ferocity that was quite uncharacteristic of the bassist. Reaching out long fingers, he poked Freddie in the arm insistently, indicating that he had something to say that could not be communicated through song lyrics.  
  
Freddie accessed Deaky's thoughts, before he turned back to Roger. "Deaky said at least he wouldn't trip over a rock and drop her into a ravine."  
  
With an angry hiss, Roger reached over Ronnie's body and seized a fistful of Deaky's cloak, pulling him closer. Deaky flashed his sharp teeth threateningly.  
  
"What's the matter with you!" Brian exclaimed to Roger as he pushed the two men apart. "You were doing so well fighting off the paranoia!"   
  
And it was true. Roger had let Deaky well enough alone ever since the incident with the fire had jeopardized Ronnie's life. Of course, he hadn't gone so far as to offer friendship or casual conversation, but he hadn't provoked him into a display of magical ire again.  
  
"Well, if the White Queen is giving up her fight, then why shouldn't I give up mine?" Roger said, his voice bitter with acid.  
  
Brian saw Freddie's eyes darken and somehow knew that he was wishing Ronnie had been awake to hear that.  
  
"Boys," Anita's soft voice floated towards them and they all looked up to see her standing tall, her arms crossed over her chest. When she had their full attention, she motioned to the sky with her chin. The clouds looked fit to burst and the heavy scent of promised rain lingered in the air.  
  
Without another look at Roger, Deaky effortlessly scooped Ronnie into his arms and followed Brian into the woods.  
  
The autumn days were short and the sun had already begun to set in a sky that was thick with storm clouds. It was dark by the time they came to a change in the landscape of the forest.   
  
"Automolove!"  
  
With a soft whisper, Roger lit his drumstick, the light showing them the rise of a hill covered with trees. At the very top sat a random gate, swaying back and forth in the uneasy air. A powerful gust of wind swirled around them, before rushing up the hill to open the gate fully, as if in open invitation.  
  
"A gate!" Freddie cried out with no shortage of excitement. "You know what that means!"  
  
Roger sighed irritably as a rain drop pelted his face. "A vegetable patch?"  
  
"Of course not, darling, don't be daft!" Freddie exclaimed, motioning to the others to follow him up the hill. "Look at the finely wrought detail on that gate; it leads to a manor house, I'm sure of it!"  
  
"In the middle of the woods?" Brian asked doubtfully.  
  
"Have you never read fairy stories, darling?" Freddie asked, already dreaming of a big elegant house with the welcoming glow of candles in the windows.  
  
Brian had been expecting Freddie to dash through the gate impatiently, ready to bang on the door and charm the residents into giving them shelter and an unlimited supply of wine. And so, he was slightly unnerved when Freddie stopped abruptly at the gate, refusing to go further. Brian stood behind him and stared over his shoulder.  
  
There was no large manor house and there were certainly no salutary candles. Instead, ghostly white gravestones haphazardly dotted the landscape in no semblance of order; they merely poked out of the wild grass and overgrown weeds to surround a dark granite mausoleum that stood sinister and silent, the very center of this chilling display of death in the midst of the woods.  
  
The gate swung to and fro in the wind, emitting an eerie creaking noise that sent shivers up and down Brian's spine.  
  
"It's a house all right," Anita muttered to herself.  
  
"House of death, you mean!" Roger whispered in alarm. "You've led us to a fucking tomb, Freddie!"  
  
The raindrops began to fall in earnest then. Delilah whined in discomfort and pawed at the tiny droplets in a futile attempt to make them go away.  
  
"I don't think we have a choice," Brian murmured, a few curls already plastered wetly against his face as he tucked Brighton safely into his shirt.  
  
"No," Roger said immediately, sensing that Brian was suggesting they spend the night in said tomb. "Absolutely not."  
  
"Well, what do you suggest, darling?" Freddie asked, crotchety from the feeling of damp that was already permeating his body. "We sit out here all night in the rain?"  
  
A bolt of lightning zipped along the dark horizon, thunder rumbled in the distance, and Brian pushed Freddie and Roger through the gate and into the graveyard.   
  
"It's not safe out here!" he said firmly. "We can't risk being struck by lightning!"  
  
At the large, ornate door to the mausoleum, Freddie reached out a hand, his eyes resting on a rather distressing looking door knocker that had been carved to resemble a gargoyle's leering face.  
  
"Go on then, Fred," Brian said as he anxiously danced from foot to foot in a useless attempt to dodge the rain.   
  
Roger peeped over Freddie's shoulder. "Should we knock first?"  
  
Freddie snorted. "Yes, because I'm sure the dead man is going to oblige us all by getting out of his tomb to come answer the door!"  
  
"It could be a dead woman," Anita pointed out.  
  
Before he could change his mind, Freddie planted firm fingers on the latch and pushed open the door before stepping back and poking Brian in the arm. "Be a dear, Brian, and go first."  
  
Brian sighed and taking Anita by the hand, ducked through the doorway. Freddie and Delilah followed.  
  
Roger gripped the door frame and peered suspiciously into the darkness, as if expecting the dead man himself to hospitably appear before him.   
  
"It's the living you should fear, Roger," Brian's voice said from inside the tomb. "Not the dead."  
  
Deaky, still supporting Ronnie's weight, gave Roger an unceremonious shove into the mausoleum. As he stepped inside and lay Ronnie down on a blanket that Anita had thoughtfully spread out, the rain began to pound the roof of the mausoleum incessantly.  
  
Brian looked over his shoulder at the gray rectangle that was the entrance to the tomb, the rain now coming down in white sheets outside and obscuring the gravestones and the old gate. And then there was only blackness as Deaky shut the door.  
  
They weren't submerged in total darkness, thanks to Roger's brightly lit drumsticks, but even still, no one spoke. Perhaps out of fear of waking the dead, perhaps out of respect for a consecrated space. Almost certainly the former, Brian thought to himself as he turned and spotted letters etched deeply into the wall of the tomb.  
  
"Well then," he said scientifically as he held out a hand for one of the drumsticks. "We might as well see who we're spending the night with, hmm?"  
  
Roger let out a snort of distaste, but placed a drumstick in Brian's hand, nonetheless.   
  
Shining the light upon the granite wall, Brian ran his fingers over the engravings.  
  
"What does it say?" Anita asked curiously as she accepted Deaky's cloak and wrapped Ronnie in it's warmth.  
  
Brian obligingly recited the tombstone epitaph out loud.  
  
 _"Great King Rat_  
 _Born on the twenty first of May._  
 _Died syphillis forty four on his birthday."_  
  
"Ah yes," Freddie said with a nod as he came to stand beside Brian. "I've heard of him. Rather notorious fellow."

He squinted in the light to read the remainder of the inscription.  
  
 _"Every second word he swore_  
 _Yes, he was the son of a whore_  
 _Always wanted by the law."_  
  
Brian felt his eyebrows furrow in concern; was it just his imagination, or had Anita visibly flinched at the word _whore?_  
  
"How do you suppose an outlawed son of a whore got a grand tomb like this?" Freddie wondered out loud, tapping his chin thoughtfully.  
  
A wide-eyed Roger shushed him quickly and whispered, "Don't let him hear you talk about him like that!" He then straightened, patted the wall of the tomb reverently, and said in a louder voice, "He meant no offense, Mr. Rat."  
  
"Perhaps the mausoleum was his right as king," Anita suggested.  
  
"But he was outlawed by his own people, so his supporters buried him in the middle of the woods where his body wouldn't be defiled," Freddie added with great interest, a song already forming in his mind.  
  
"And when his supporters died, they were buried here, too!" Roger said in a whisper, thinking of the gravestones surrounding the mausoleum at that very moment. "To guard him 'til the end of time."  
  
The rain outside intensified, if that was even possible, and the wind moaned through the trees. The ragtag band of travelers taking refuge in the tomb shivered, and moved closer together.  
  
Ronnie let out a quiet moan of her own and squirmed uncomfortably on her back.  
  
"Sshh," Anita whispered, placing a comforting hand on her forehead and recoiling slightly at the heat. "There, there, love."  
  
But her touch could not quell Ronnie's discomfort, nor could Freddie's cool fingers, and it wasn't until Deaky lifted her onto his lap and hesitantly wrapped his arms around her that she calmed and fell back into a deep sleep.  
  
Everyone blinked at him in surprise and his cheeks burned red as he dropped his head nervously, as if he expected her to wake up at any moment and shriek in alarm at his close proximity...though she hadn't seemed to mind in the bar...  
  
"Do you think she has _it?"_ Anita asked quietly.  
  
No one needed to ask her what she meant by that statement; she had merely voiced what everyone else had been thinking. They had recently visited a town that had been invaded by disease; was The Great Sickness what was ailing the White Queen?  
  
"Surely not," Freddie said firmly. "None of us have it. We were in the bar with her."  
  
An uneasy silence fell over the tomb until Roger let out a strangled sound of discomfited remembrance.  
  
"She drank from the same mug as that arsecrack of a fiance of hers," he said softly.  
  
"Roger, are you sure?" Brian asked.  
  
"I watched her do it," Roger said confidently. "It was after the chandelier fell and everyone was running from the joint. I was trying to get over to her and she tipped back her head and drained the mug in only a few seconds." He couldn't help but look slightly impressed at the recollection.  
  
"I've heard _it_ spreads by contact with humans," Anita said as she glanced sadly at Ronnie. "Through touch, kissing, bodily fluids. If his saliva was on rim of the mug, it's entirely possible..."  
  
"But that would mean the evil toadmonger has it," Freddie pointed out. "He would had to have contracted it from somewhere, in order to pass it onto her..."  
  
"I hope he does have it!" Roger snarled. "Serves him right! I hope his bowels explode tonight and decapitate him!"  
  
Brian blinked at Roger's colorful illustration. "Is that even possible...?"  
  
"Wherever he is and whatever the state of his bowels," Freddie said firmly, "I'm sure he's paying dearly for what he's done to the poor darling."  
  
Brian sighed. "We should get some rest. As soon as the rain stops, we'll need to find help."  
  
The tomb was spacious, but the six travelers (along with Delilah and Brighton) all found themselves nestled on one end together, the light of Roger's drumsticks a comforting beacon in the spectral atmosphere of the mausoleum.  
  
Roger bowed his head towards the epitaph on the wall. "Goodnight, Your Majesty. If you'll be so kind as to not haunt us tonight..." And with that being said, he curled up in his cloak and fell asleep.  
  
\---  
  
Subdued shadows of black and gray swam before Ronnie's eyes as she was unwillingly pulled from the depths of a deep slumber, up to the surface of wakening. She tentatively opened one eye to see an ethereal glow that reflected off a shiny granite wall.  
  
Surely this wasn't the meadow on top of the hill of silt? How long had she been out for?  
  
Wherever she was, it was bone chillingly cold, and she burrowed deeper into the warmth that surrounded her, before she curiously opened her other eye to find out where in fact that warmth was coming from.   
  
It could have been the heavy cloak that was not her own, yet was wrapped comfortingly around her. But more likely, it was from the embrace she was folded in. A powerful feeling of safety lay over her like a blanket, and it reminded her very much of the security she had felt in the bar...  
  
Ignoring her splitting headache, Ronnie slowly looked up. The dim light from Roger's drumsticks - because surely, that's where the ethereal glow was coming from - showed her the outline of a strong jaw, a pale cheek with a dark mark near the chin, a wave of long black hair.  
  
John.

A terrible wave of nausea swept her inhibitions away and she turned her face into his chest until the overwhelming urge to vomit passed by. She felt the circuit of magic running through his veins and it soothed her, sort of like the rushing water of a nearby river that couldn't be seen, but which could be felt as an undercurrent through the heart.  
  
But though the sensation was calming to her, it also reminded her that his magic was powerful and unpredictable. The very thought made her feel as though she should crawl out of his arms, for her own safety, and curl up on the floor, where she belonged.  
  
Defiantly, she shifted in his lap and pressed her cheek against his neck. His cool flesh was like a balm to her flushed, hot skin, and his collarbone an anchor, grounding her to his chest and preventing her sorrow from carrying her away. Deep down, she knew this was very unlike her, that she would never have willingly sought solace from the Black Queen.  
  
But that night, she welded herself to him, even so. Because she wanted to know what it felt like. Just once before she returned to village spinsterhood, she wanted to feel like she _mattered_ to someone.  
  
As she was wondering if the horrible sickness she was feeling might be heartbreak, a soft pale light from the far corner caught her eye. This light was entirely unlike the radiance of Roger's drumsticks; this was something far more otherworldly.  
  
As Ronnie squinted, she made out the curve of an arm, the outline of wild hair in disarray, and the unfamiliar features of a weary face...  
  
The man was surrounded by a soft lustrous light of his very own as he sat in the corner, one knee propped up and supporting the arm that was carelessly slung over it. He didn't look all that old, perhaps middle-aged, but his eyes were haunted with all sorts of unspoken emotions. He was staring at her as he twirled a crown around his index finger.  
  
And then his face softened and he nodded at her before he vanished.

Ronnie blinked, unsure if she could trust what she had just seen, but then waves of nausea swept her thoughts of despair and ghosts away and she was pulled down into the dark, comforting depths of unconsciousness once more.  
  
She let John's soft, even breathing and his steady heartbeat rock her gently to sleep.  
  
\---  
  
Holding her breath, Anita grasped the latch and pulled the door of the tomb open a sliver, just enough to allow her to step out into the cold light of dawn. She sucked in a great big breath of fresh air, grateful to be free of the tomb at last.  
  
Sitting on the steps of the mausoleum, she cracked open the small leather bound book she had smuggled out from the tomb while her traveling companions slept. It was becoming a sort of strange, disturbing routine to consult the _Guide to Prostitution_ every morning before everyone else woke.  
  
Chapter two. _Contraception._   
  
Anita twirled a red lock of hair nervously around her forefinger. Naturally, if chapter one had been about preventing disease, chapter two would be about preventing pregnancy.  
  
As the morning breeze wrapped her in a faint, sympathetic embrace, she allowed her eyes to wander from the page and over to a very small gravestone. Leaning forward to get a closer look, she saw that it was so much smaller than all the others and was adorned with only two words...  
  
A burning curiosity pulled her to her feet and propelled her over to the gravestone. Kneeling before it, she read the name, which really wasn't a name at all...  
  
 _Baby Monster_  
  
Anita frowned. What was that supposed to mean? Her thoughts swirled restlessly, trying on every possible explanation, before her heart firmly told her mind to stop protecting her, and to recognize the words for what they really were.  
  
The baby had been a monster to whoever buried it here. Perhaps it had been deformed, perhaps it had been misunderstood. She had no way of knowing for sure. But how would one create a baby monster?  
  
Anita's heart sunk, because she knew the answer almost immediately. Disease would create a baby monster. Disease caused by reckless and irresponsible sexual intercourse.   
  
Hence, chapter two, contraception.  
  
Great King Rat had been the son of a whore. Perhaps this baby had, too. And if she went down the path she was so afraid of going down, the path she felt she may have no choice but to take, then it was entirely possible that she would one day give birth to another Great King Rat, or a Baby Monster, if she was not careful.  
  
She bowed her head, her eyes filled with tears, not only for herself, but for all the Great King Rats and Baby Monsters of the world.  
  
Anita felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. Tucking _Guide to Prostitution_ between her legs, she opened her tear-filled eyes just in time to see a familiar hand laying a pretty purple flower upon Baby Monster's grave.  
  
Turning, she looked up into Brian's soft green eyes. He knelt beside her, his hand still on her shoulder, a comforting weight, multiple questions swimming in those same eyes, the most prominent question asking why she was keeping her distance from him.  
  
After Brian had saved her from the crashing waves of the sea, they had formed a beautiful friendship that reigned strong for an entire year. But then she had been offered a breakthrough acting job that she couldn't refuse, and Brian had been pulled away to perform in various parts of the land with the band. The truth was Anita had fallen for him during that time and she was afraid to do so again, especially when her number one priority was finding work as an actress, work that would no doubt tear them apart all over again.   
  
That's why, ever since their reunion at the theater, she had been so distant, that's why she hadn't rekindled their friendship quite to the fire it had once been. She had allowed a friendly touch here or there, polite fireside conversations, and private smiles, but she was afraid of what would happen if it went further than that.  
  
Brian seemed to sense this, for he nodded, almost imperceptibly, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a sad smile.  
  
Then, without even stopping to think about what she was doing, Anita threw her arms around his neck. Brian toppled backwards, before he found his balance and caught her around the waist.  
  
As Brian held her before Baby Monster's grave, Anita decided that she'd tell him all about her predicament, just as soon as Ronnie was taken care of and feeling better. She'd ask Brian for his advice, for his help. She knew he wouldn't let her fall from grace.  
  
The wind blew through the long grass, bending it in half to bow towards the west, and brought with it the sounds of laughter and bright conversation. Anita watched as Brian lifted his head and listened intently.  
  
"What is it?" she whispered, as he rose to his knees.  
  
"I recognize one of those voices," Brian said quietly. "It almost sounds like..."  
  
Realization hit him square in the chest and he leapt to his feet. Grasping Anita's hand, he pulled her along as he ran through the grass and weaved through the gravestones.   
He didn't stop until they reached the edge of the graveyard. Anita gasped for breath and pressed a hand against the stitch in her side as they stood at the top of the hill and gazed down into the woods. Through the trees, they could see gypsy caravans, surrounded by the noise and confusion that accompanies the breaking up of a camp at dawn.  
  
Brian grasped her hand tightly and Anita could see hope shining brightly in his eyes.   
  
"It's Sarina," he said matter-of-factly. "And I have reason to believe she's a healer."  
  
"Do you think she could help Ronnie?" Anita asked, her own hope mirroring Brian's.  
  
"I think she might," Brian confirmed, before turning and planting his hands on Anita's shoulders. "I'm going to go find her. Will you tell the others where I've gone?"  
  
Anita nodded. Brian gave her a quick peck on the cheek, before he hurried down the hillside towards the wagons and horses.  
  
Placing her hand upon the place where Brian's lips had been only moments before, Anita turned and trudged through the weeds in the cemetery. She didn't remove her fingers from her cheek until she arrived at the mausoleum and saw a sight that made her drop her hand in shock.  
  
Crouched before Baby Monster's grave was Freddie, the forgotten _Guide to Prostitution_ in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Baby Monster grave is real! I found it in a very interesting article about cryptic grave inscriptions.
> 
> Super excited for the next chapter! Let's just say we're going to need a little magic to vanquish this illness.


	10. Chapter 10

"Curious thing to have found in the graveyard," Freddie remarked casually, gazing up at Anita from under dark brows as she tentatively approached.   
  
Anita leaned politely forward to study the cover of _Guide to Prostitution_ (though there was no need, she knew it well enough) and let out a noncommittal "hmph" noise.  
  
"Wouldn't think the poor souls buried here would have any need of it, hmm?" Freddie added.  
  
Anita leaned against the mausoleum and planted a fist on her hip, her face a perfect mask. "You never know. They do say death doesn't always extinguish love's flame."  
  
Freddie made a show of tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Yes, but we're not talking about love here, are we, darling? We're talking about sex."  
  
Anita folded her arms. "No doubt it was a runaway prostitute taking refuge in the cemetery, then."  
  
Freddie raised an eyebrow delicately. "No doubt."  
  
Anita was spared from further comment by the arrival of Brian and a lovely blonde gypsy, who she assumed must be Sarina. As they rushed into the mausoleum, Freddie tucked _Guide to Prostitution_ into his cloak and made a grand gesture to Anita that clearly said, _ladies first._  
  
Offering a brief curtsy, Anita entered the mausoleum before him, finally allowing her face to fall in dismay.  
  
Yes, she would eventually ask Brian for help, but she still needed to find a way to get _Guide to Prostitution_ back from Freddie before he saw the inscription on the inside cover that read:  
  
 _To Anita, with the hope that you'll never need to use this book._  
 _But if you do, may it be a beacon of hope in the dark. Love, Lucy  
_  
\---  
  
 _ **Fourteen Hours Later**_  
  
A burning pain in her inner thighs finally forced Ronnie to open her eyes and acknowledge that there was a ceiling over her head. A real ceiling, not a granite slab of rock that housed a tomb.  
  
A brief spark of curiosity burst through the nausea that never seemed to go away, but only for a moment. As soon as Ronnie lifted her head to look around the room, a dizzy feeling engulfed her completely and she let her head drop back down on the pillow.  
  
But before she had been compelled to close her eyes again, she had seen Sarina in the corner, briskly mixing some kind of concoction in a glass jar, and bits and pieces of fleeting memories from that day slowly began to return to her.  
  
Lying on the cold stone of the tomb floor, wishing to reach out for John's warmth though she couldn't understand why, and not being able to move her fingers.  
  
A cool, gentle hand on her forehead and Sarina's kind face above her, and then a voice that seemed to come from miles away that said, _Yes. Yes, I'm afraid she has it._  
  
Freddie's astonished voice, echoing in her throbbing ears, as he exclaimed, _You have a castle, darling, and you never thought to mention this before now?  
_  
Hands on her waist as they lifted her onto the bare back of a horse, and hands on her arms as they were circled around a man's waist and Sarina's voice in her ear as she whispered, _That's it, love, rest your head on John's shoulder.  
_  
The feel of rough, homespun wool on her cheek.  
  
The sensation of being jolted up and down roughly as the horse trotted away ( _so that's why my thighs hurt_ , Ronnie thought to herself). The green and brown blur as trees and meadows flew by.

John's hand eventually finding her own, where her fingers were laced tightly over his navel in a noble attempt to hang on tight and not slide off the horse's back.  
  
The incredibly feeling of safety that surrounded her as her body finally anchored itself onto the creature's back and she remained tucked securely between John and Sarina.  
  
Waking very suddenly and finding the strength to tap Sarina's knee, and Sarina's voice yelling over the wind, _John, we must stop!_  
  
Sliding ungracefully off the horse and stumbling through a field of wildflowers and into the trees, only to fall to her knees and vomit over and over and over again.  
  
Crawling to the edge of the woods as a powerful vertigo overcame her, wondering when the world would stop spinning long enough to allow her to get to her feet.  
  
Blackness as she lost consciousness, yet again.  
  
And then, hours later, a strange clarity as she opened her eyes and her mind drank in every color and every detail that surrounded her, her heart swelling in a terrifying awe as she admired the little brown hairs that covered the horse's ears, and beyond that, Sarina's swift and steady footsteps as she carefully navigated the horse over gray boulders and small rocks of every shape and size, and around spiky bushes and tangled bramble and into a cool, green forest.  
  
Ronnie had looked down then to see John's long fingers, entwined in the horse's dark mane. She was seated on the horse in front of him, nestled comfortably in the crook of his other arm, which was wrapped tightly around her stomach. And feeling a sense of peace that she knew wouldn't last, Ronnie leaned heavily against John's chest, her head resting against his shoulder.   
  
And then...  
  
A reassuring weight as he leaned his cheek against her head and the gradual descent back into unconsciousness as the horse's movements swayed her body rhythmically against John's.  
  
And then nothing. Nothing at all as she fell into a deep, dark sleep.  
  
Now, sprawled in the comfortable queen-sized bed, Ronnie allowed Sarina to prop her up long enough to drink from the glass jar, before she rolled onto her side, curled up into a little ball, and drifted off.  
  
\---  
  
Ronnie's sleep had been thankfully devoid of dreams ever since she had fallen ill, but that night, she was visited in sleep by a distant memory, disguised as a dream, which eventually transformed into a nightmare...  
  
 _The excitement in the air was so palpable that for a moment, Ronnie reached a hand out, as if she could touch it. As if she could capture that excitement, roll it into a little ball, and tuck it into her pocket for later._  
  
 _As dozens upon dozens of men marched into the village, the women around her wept with relief and the children let out whoops of joy. Ronnie spotted her father's weary, yet kind, face among the ragtag army and felt her face break into a euphoric smile, waves of pride radiating from every pore in her body.  
_  
 _The men had come home safe. They had journeyed to the east, fought the ogre-men, and returned home, all of them alive.  
_  
 _As Ronnie's father caught sight of her and her mother, he grinned and waved before he was swept past them by the rest of the men marching in the street. Ronnie watched his back as he retreated, her smile slowly fading.  
_  
 _That's when she felt someone gazing upon her face and turning her head, she locked eyes with a young man.  
_  
 _She had seen him before, though she couldn't quite remember his name. Valmore? Victor? No, that wasn't quite it...  
_  
 _Puzzling over his name with a thoughtful frown, Ronnie observed his bright blue eyes and his long, black hair, slicked back just so. And just as his name was on the tip of her tongue, he smiled at her and the name vanished back into the depths of her mind, lost once more.  
_  
 _Slowly, Ronnie felt a ridiculous smile spread across her face as he nodded politely at her and continued down the lane.  
_  
 _He was handsome, brave, valiant - just like the knights she had always read about, just like the prince in the book that was now pressed against her chest. Her long white dress billowed around her legs, thanks to an unexpected - but not unwelcome - breeze, and she dared to feel like a maiden in white.  
_  
 _And she continued to feel that way, well into the night, when the entire village celebrated the safe return of the men with an outdoor welcome home party. The sound of a fiddle drifted alongside the wind, and delicious aromas and carefree laughter pierced the air.  
_  
 _Ronnie was watching the dancers as they twirled over a makeshift dance floor made of old wooden boards, when she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. Turning, she found herself staring into the same bright blue eyes from that afternoon.  
_  
 _"May I have this dance?" the young man asked, holding out his hand as he bowed slightly.  
_  
 _Filled with wonder that anyone would want to dance with her, Ronnie placed her hand in his and let out a squeal of surprise when he wrapped an arm around her waist and swept her off her feet and into the whirling mass of dancers.  
_  
 _Valentino, that was his name.  
_  
 _Ronnie danced with him for the rest of the night, until her feet were sore and her eyelids began to droop with weariness, unable to believe her luck. Unable to believe that this soldier was relishing the feel of her hand in his, and looking into her eyes whenever he had a chance, and whispering to her that he had never seen anyone so beautiful...  
_  
 _And then the wind changed direction and his face, too, began to change.  
_  
 _The music, the dancers, and the party all faded into the background as the memory from two years ago disappeared and turned into a deadly nightmare.  
  
The leather binding holding back Valentino's hair came undone and black locks hung around his morphing face. His olive complexion turned to a ghostly shade of white, as if an unseen force was sucking the very life from him, and his delicate eyebrows turned into a deep shade of midnight as they arched threateningly over eyes that were suddenly...  
_  
 _...just white. Completely and utterly white until they began to glow red.  
_  
 _With a gasp, Ronnie tried to pull away from him, but he had his arm firmly around her waist. Roughly, he yanked her into the woods and only once they were far enough away that she wouldn't be heard if she screamed for help, he pinned her against a tree, his hands gripping her wrists above her head.  
_  
 _"You little fool," Valentino whispered, his white eyes devoid of all the softness that had been there just moments before. "You really thought I wanted to dance with you, and only you, all night? You dared to believe me when I told you that you were beautiful, that I wanted to see you again? You truly trusted that I had eyes for no one else?"  
_  
 _He threw back his head and let out a ghastly laugh that echoed through the thick, dark pines.  
_  
 _"Listen to me now, and listen to me carefully," he said, his bright eyes once more locked with hers. "Don't you ever trust what a man tells you, because he lies!"  
_  
 _And then he pressed his chest against hers, his fingers tangled in her hair, and when she opened her mouth to cry for help, she found she had no voice.  
_  
 _A soft glow caught Ronnie's eyes and tearing her eyes off Valentino's face for just a moment, she saw a figure in white climbing a tree in the distance. He looked vaguely familiar, weary and worn, and he was wearing a crown...  
_  
 _What was the ghost from the tomb doing in the woods around her village?  
_  
 _A pain in her chest made Ronnie forget all about the ghost. Her eyes swiveled back to Valentino only to see that he had pierced her in the heart with one long, jagged fingernail.  
_  
 _Ronnie stared in horror at the blood that was bubbling up from the wound and gradually soaking her white gown. She felt her life force begin to dim as she lost more and more blood and finding the strength to slowly look back up, she expected to see Valentino's self-satisfied smile. Instead, she found herself gazing into the irate face of...  
_  
 _...John.  
_  
With a shriek, Ronnie's eyes opened and she tried to lift her hands so that she could press them against her chest, to make sure her heart was still intact, but she couldn't move because someone was holding her from behind. The feeling of safety that she was gradually becoming accustomed to hovered nearby as she recognized the arms as John's, but just as quickly, the safe feeling flew out the window as she realized she was being restrained.  
  
Just like in her dream.   
  
She fought against John to no avail, until she felt Sarina's gentle hands on her knees.  
  
"Ronnie!" she murmured soothingly. "Ronnie!"  
  
"Let me go!" Ronnie whispered fiercely. "Can't you see that he'll find me if you don't let me go?"  
  
"Who?" Sarina asked softly. "Who will find you, Ronnie?"  
  
How could Ronnie explain to her that to stay in this bed was to dive back into the woods surrounding her village? That to lay her head against the pillow was to lay her head against the monster's chest, and feel that he had no beating heart...  
  
 _"Him!"_ Ronnie said, as if placing so much emphasis on the word would make Sarina realize exactly who "he" was supposed to be.  
  
"Ronnie," Sarina said firmly. "No one is going to find you. You're safe here, this is only the Great Sickness wearing your body down and invading your mind."  
  
"But it feels so real!" Ronnie protested.  
  
"It's just a bit of delirium, that's all," Sarina explained. "And that delirium can't hurt you unless you let it."  
  
As the fight slowly left Ronnie's body, she felt John loosen his grip on her, though his arms remained twined around her. His dark hair fell over her shoulder as he leaned forward, his heart pressed against her spine, conveying without words that he was there if she should need him.  
  
And though the gesture was a comfort, Ronnie's nightmare was slowly refocusing in her mind, making it painfully clear to her that she had wasted two years of her life believing she was wanted, when her relationship had really been built on lies.  
  
She mentally grasped for Sarina's words.  
  
 _...can't hurt you unless you let it._  
  
\---  
  
Sarina frowned as she observed the scene in front of her.  
  
From her vantage point at the foot of the bed, she had a perfect view of Ronnie, sitting upright amongst the tangled blankets, stiff as a board as she stared out the open window at the white crescent moon in the night sky. It had been ten minutes since she had woken from her nightmare and she had refused to go back to sleep.  
  
Her protests, her resistance, her frightened expression - it was all gone now, and had been replaced with empty, unseeing eyes within a mask of stone. Sarina almost wished she would cry out or thrash about again, because at least it would indicate a sign of life, a wish to fight. Anything would be better than the haunted facial expression Ronnie now wore and the motionless body that Ronnie now occupied.  
  
Ronnie was still safely positioned between John's legs, for he had remained behind her in case the delirium decided to return (though it had really not yet gone; withdrawal into oneself was just another form of it). Unfortunately, the return of Ronnie's self-restraint had brought the return of John's shy nature, and he had dropped his arms to his side. His fingers tapped restlessly upon his knees as he glanced over Ronnie's head at Sarina and allowed her to see the deepset worry that lined his brow.  
  
Sarina offered him a reassuring smile, though there was a dreadful ache in her heart as she gazed upon the two souls in front of her. Ronnie was wearing only a chemise because the Sickness brought sweating spells and high temperatures and to wear anything more would have been unbearable. Clad as such and tucked between John's legs, Sarina would have thought she was looking upon the peaceful midnight marriage bed of two intertwined hearts.  
  
Sarina's smile faltered then because she knew that was nowhere near the truth. There was nothing domestic or romantic about the scene before her; in reality, it was incredibly desperate, so very sad. In Ronnie's current state of delirium-tinged illness, John was merely a shadow in the dark, a soft touch in the night. And as long as he remained in his cursed state, he would likely stay that way.  
  
But Sarina knew his true feelings. She could see it lurking in the whiteness of his eyes, could sense it in the way he had held Ronnie before, in the way he now bit his lip uncertainly as he, too, gazed out the window, his chin hovering over her head.  
  
"I just don't understand why he couldn't..."  
  
Sarina turned in surprise at Ronnie's voice, which was very quiet. In fact, she didn't sound delirious at all.  
  
The kindhearted gyspy waited patiently for Ronnie to finish her thought. The moon shifted as it moved through the sky, and bright moonlight shone upon her face, gently removing the blank expression and replacing it with a look of despair.  
  
"...why he couldn't just love me," Ronnie finished in a whisper as her lower lip trembled. She quickly dropped her head as a single sob shook her shoulders.  
  
Sarina didn't have to ask who she was talking about. It was so very obvious that Ronnie was referring to the ex-fiance that had heartlessly abandoned her. Freddie had given her all the gritty, painful details.  
  
Her eyes drifted from Ronnie's bowed head to John's face, which had darkened considerably as he clenched his jaw tightly, a muscle twitching in his cheek, his pupil-less eyes burning with a thousand emotions. The flames of the candles on the bureau flicked dangerously and he quickly closed his eyes.  
  
Until Ronnie yanked the engagement band off her left ring finger and threw it out the window with a viscous hiss. Almost immediately after, she began to shake again.  
  
Sarina grasped Ronnie's hand, trying to keep her anchored to the present, though it was clear the Sickness was sweeping her away into the stormy sea of her own thoughts. Her eyes darted from one corner of the room to the next, as if she were seeing the ghosts from her nightmare again, and the fingers of her free hand gripped her heart, as if she were trying to keep it from dropping out of her chest.  
  
Sarina knew the delirium was taking her away, and it would do so again and again, if unconsciousness didn't pull her under first. Reaching forward with her other hand, she placed it on John's arm, imploring.  
  
"John, please," she pleaded in a whisper. "I know how you feel about her. I need you to give her a sign, some indication of your love for her."  
  
John's white eyes widened in alarm and he shook his head slowly.  
  
"Please," Sarina whispered. "Please give her something to cling to, something to help her fight this."  
  
John looked desperately around the room, as if there would be a random object that could assist him with this, but there was only the light of the moon.  
  
Sarina's fingers tightened on his arm. "John, she doesn't think that she's loved. She's giving up."  
  
She watched as John looked down at her hand on his arm, his gaze traveling down her own forearm, where the words _infinity love_ were inked. His glance then shifted to Ronnie, who had suddenly fallen back against his chest, limp with disorientation, the only movement coming from the fingers of her right hand, which were compulsively massaging her bare ring finger, over and over and over again, where Valentino's worthless ring had circled it for so long.  
  
John closed his eyes, a form of surrender, before his hesitation vanished and, opening his eyes, he pried the ring off his pinky finger. Very gently, he pulled Ronnie's restless fingers away and slipped his ring on the fourth finger of her left hand.  
  
John glanced at Sarina, his eyes questioning.  
  
Sarina nodded, indicating that it was safe for him to proceed, and John carefully gathered Ronnie against his chest, so that she was fully cradled in his arms. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he pressed his cheek against hers and projected his voice into her mind, telling her exactly how he felt.  
  
 _I'm cold, but you light the fire in me_  
  
Sarina watched as the desperation lining Ronnie's face melted into peace and slowly, her fingers came to life as she placed her left hand on John's forearm, before falling into a tranquil sleep.   
  
John flinched in surprise at her touch and he looked over at Sarina, who had managed to muster, from deep within herself, a genuine smile. John's ring, a perfect fit on Ronnie's finger, twinkled in the light of the moon.   
  
And then she slipped off the bed and went to the window, where she let the smile slip off her face, the same exact face that she had been trying to keep so brave and composed, for John's sake. But underneath the calm expression, Sarina was secretly terrified because Ronnie was steadily advancing through all the stages of the Great Sickness and heading at a breakneck speed for the final stage.  
  
 _First stage, severe fatigue. Second stage, nausea and dizziness. Third stage, loss of consciousness. Fourth stage, vomiting. Fifth stage, delirium. Sixth stage..._  
  
The sixth stage was coma, which would eventually lead to...  
  
Sarina banished the thought from her mind. She had treated others who had the Great Sickness and they had all made full recoveries. There was no reason to believe Ronnie wouldn't, too.  
  
Still, anxiety gripped her heart as she stared out the window and into the trees, pitch black as they were, outlined against the fainter navy of the sky. John and Ronnie's traveling companions were in that forest somewhere and Sarina sent a silent prayer to the moon, asking for their safe deliverance to the castle.  
  
The only reason Sarina, John, and Ronnie had managed to reach the castle first was because they had come by horse; a simple half day's ride from the mausoleum. But Sarina's band of gypsies had only been able to spare one horse and so, the others agreeably followed on foot, though it was a full day's journey from the mausoleum.  
  
If Sarina's calculations were correct, they would arrive in the morning.  
  
 _Please hurry,_ Sarina thought as she pressed her nose against the glass window pane, knowing deep down that Ronnie needed all the support she could get.  
  
 ** _The Following Day_**  
 ** _Mid-morning_**  
  
It wasn't a particularly giant castle, but it was still fairly sizable. Entirely made of a pale gray stone, it stood at a formidable two stories tall, complete with balconies and turrets. It was established in the middle of a vast forest, but as Anita and the others stood at the towering black gate that led to the small front courtyard, it was obvious that there was some sort of open space beyond the castle, where the trees suddenly disappeared.  
  
"A worthy fortress indeed," Freddie remarked grandly, his eyes sparkling as his mind drank in every medieval detail, no doubt saving his observations for later, to incorporate into a song.  
  
Anita sighed with relief as Freddie bent to unlatch the gate. It had been absolute hell trying to steal back _Guide to Prostitution_ on a journey through the wilderness, where Freddie never had need to take off his cloak. But here, in the castle, if he left his cloak (and the book) in his room, it would only take a moment to...  
  
She had even gone as far as recruiting Delilah's help (though Delilah had merely growled a soft promise and disappeared for five minutes, only to return and proudly present Anita with a sopping wet lilypad from the nearest river).  
  
There was a flash of red and Anita's heart nearly beat out of her chest with unrestrained hope as _Guide to Prostitution_ dropped out of Freddie's cloak and into the grass. She didn't hesitate. She dove for it, her fingers only inches away from the leatherbound cover, but Freddie was quicker than she was. Plucking it out of the grass, he brushed it off and tucked it back into his cloak.  
  
"Silly thing," he said amicably to Anita. "Doesn't want to be safe, I suppose. Like a certain woman I know, in fact."  
  
Anita gasped and lowered her voice to a hiss. "How dare you!"  
  
"Exactly, darling!" Freddie whispered firmly as he crouched on the ground beside her. "How dare _you!_ You're much too precious to sell yourself to a bunch of diseased dogs!"  
  
"B-but," Anita stammered nervously. "It's not..."  
  
"It's not yours?" Freddie asked with mock awe. "Don't trifle with me, darling! I saw your name on the inside cover!"  
  
"I wasn't..." Anita faltered as she tried to conjure a lie that wouldn't come. "I didn't..."  
  
"Prostitute yourself he says," Freddie sang softly, "castrate your human pride..."  
  
Anita eyes flashed. "You don't understand!"  
  
Freddie's eyes softened at that. "Are you in some sort of trouble, my dear?"  
  
Anita swallowed hard, forcing a note of calm casualness into her voice. "No."  
  
Freddie narrowed his eyes at her lie, before he turned his nose up into the air and called out, "Brian!"  
  
Anita's hand clamped over his wrist. "Don't!" she whispered. "Please, don't tell him!"  
  
Brian, who had been admiring the small stable adjoined to the courtyard, looked over his shoulder. "Yes, Fred?"  
  
"What are your thoughts on prostitutes?" Freddie asked bluntly, ignoring Anita's death grip on his hand.  
  
Brian turned fully, frowning. "To each her own, I suppose."  
  
"I think they're misunderstood," Roger piped up from behind Brian.  
  
"I'm sure you do," Brian muttered, coming forward to offer Anita a hand. As he helped her to her feet, his clear green eyes traveled from her carefully lowered gaze, to Freddie's eyebrows, knitted together in concern.  
  
"Is everything all right?" Brian asked slowly, the thick tension in the air surrounding him in a very claustrophobic way.  
  
Anita was saved from answering by the appearance of John, who had opened the heavy gilded front door and was now standing in the entrance of his stronghold.  
  
As Anita gazed upon his face, all thoughts of _Guide to Prostitution_ and her current predicament vanished, replaced by a strong disquietude. For John's face was pale, much paler than usual, and his white eyes were wide with fear, and his sharp teeth were sunk into the delicate skin of his lower lip as he waited anxiously for them to approach.  
  
He looked like he was trying very hard not to cry.  
  
Freddie scrambled ungracefully to his feet, rushing through the iron gate and across the courtyard to grasp his friend's shoulders. He, unlike the rest of them, had been able to see into John's thoughts.  
  
Which meant he already knew that Ronnie was not doing well at all.  
  
\---  
  
Sarina knelt beside the bed as the room slowly darkened, dusk casting long shadows, tinged with orange light, upon the bedroom floor. She pressed her fingers against Ronnie's wrist, as she had done at least a hundred times already that day, and felt the pulse, even weaker than before.  
  
Clasping the younger girl's hand, Sarina dropped her head in the crook of her arm and swallowed a throat full of tears. She had done everything she possibly could, but medicines and standard therapeutic techniques were not going to help Ronnie now. She had entered the final stage of the coma, and though her chest faintly rose and fell with shallow breaths, she had not opened her eyes since that moment the night before when she had thrown Valentino's ring out into the night.  
  
Sarina had hoped the appearance of the others would lift Ronnie's spirits and aid the healing process, but she hadn't stirred and now everyone was in the library on the first floor of the castle, searching the hundreds upon hundreds of books for medical tomes of knowledge on illness.  
  
Lifting her head, Sarina sighed as she got to her feet and chanced one last longing glance at Ronnie's still form, before she turned, fully intending to burst into a fit of hopeless tears...  
  
...and froze as she stared into a pair of dazzling blue eyes.  
  
Roger was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed as he looked down at her with a look that was almost expressionless, except for the concern that had flashed through his eyes when she had turned around. Sarina's heart sunk, because she hadn't wanted anyone to witness her show of emotion, but it was far too late to put her mask back on now.  
  
Clearing her throat uncomfortably, Sarina dabbed furiously at her eyes, trying to will the moisture to go back from whence it came. If she was being honest with herself, Roger was the last person she would have wanted to find her sobbing her heart out. He didn't need to see that, his heart was already heavy enough with his own untold emotions, and stories she didn't yet know...  
  
But that feeling of discomfort gradually shifted as Roger took a step forward, and then the feeling began to fade away as he held his hand out to her.  
  
Not quite knowing what he was asking for, Sarina placed her hand in his, giving him permission to lace his fingers firmly between hers as he tugged her closer and closer, until she was standing toe to toe with him, belly to belly. But his gaze was so intense, and so filled with questions she couldn't answer, that she instantly bowed her head, focusing her own gaze on the ground. A tear slipped down her nose and soaked the wooden floorboards beneath them.  
  
She couldn't be quite sure how it happened, if she had been the one to lean into him first, but then again, it didn't really matter, did it? It only mattered that he was there, a willing participant in her misery as she lost herself completely in his embrace. It was only when she returned to reality sometime later that she even realized she was there, her cheeks soaked with salty tears, her throat raw with emotion, and Roger's arms folded tightly around her.  
  
"Is it that bad?" Roger whispered.  
  
"Well..." Sarina began uncertainly.  
  
Roger pulled back so that he was looking directly at her. "Tell me the truth."  
  
"You don't want to hear the truth," Sarina answered softly.  
  
"Tell me anyway."  
  
Sarina looked out the window and sighed. "I've done everything I can do for her. She's reached the final phase of the Sickness and it's..." She took a deep breath. "I don't think it'll be long before..."   
  
Closing her eyes, Sarina was overcome by a fierce frustration. She never had trouble finding the right words, but it was proving to be quite impossible to tell the man in front of her that his friend was dying.  
  
"She likely won't recover," Sarina finally said, opening her eyes and looking up to see Roger's reaction.  
  
But Roger wasn't looking at her. His face was turned to the bedroom door, where John was standing, looking quite lost.  
  
Sarina's heart burned. Knowing how John felt about Ronnie, she had tried so hard to hide Ronnie's prognosis from him, trying to spare him from the truth and holding out hope until the last minute that Ronnie might surprise them all and heal.   
  
But John knew the truth now. It was clear in the way his fingers shook as he clung to the doorframe, in the way his eyes prickled with small red dots, in the way his face fell as he turned on his heel and ran up the stairs to the castle turret bedroom he now occupied, ever since giving his own room to Ronnie.  
  
Sarina released Roger and ran trembling fingers through her hair, trying to think of a way to help him, to help Ronnie, to help them all get through this, when heavy footsteps sounded down the staircase and John reappeared, his cloak fastened around his neck, a shovel in each hand, and an expression of determination fixed upon his face.  
  
A small jolt of alarm surged through Sarina's veins as she momentarily wondered if he had lost his wits and was going to dig a grave prematurely. But this thought thankfully disappeared as quickly as it had come; she knew John wouldn't give up that easily.  
  
She watched as John tossed a shovel to Roger and indicated with a flick of his right index finger that he should follow.  
  
\---  
  
It was dark, much too dark for Roger's liking, and the lantern that the Black Queen held at the level of his eyes wasn't casting nearly enough light. He cursed himself at that moment for leaving his drumsticks at the castle and thought, not for the first time, that it would be so easy to take his revenge on the Black Queen while they were alone in the forest.  
  
A good whack over the head with the shovel, perhaps. Plenty of places to bury the body, too. But the dancing light of the flame within the lantern kept Roger at a distance, knowing all too well how easily the Black Queen's chaotic magic could manipulate fire.  
  
Not to mention that if he did away with the Black Queen now, Ronnie wouldn't stand a chance against that fucking illness.  
  
 _And,_ on top of all that, Sarina was trusting him to do the right thing.  
  
 _Roger, please,_ she had said, as he had stood in the bedroom with her, glaring after the Black Queen as he stormed away with his shovel. _I don't know what happened between you two, but I'm begging you! Help him. He's Ronnie's last hope._  
  
The thought of Sarina softened the revenge in his heart momentarily, before bitterness crept up his throat like bile at the thought of being forced to assist the very monster who had pierced his heart with an arrow.   
  
Why him, anyway? Why was he the one who was being asked to do this?  
  
Roger sighed in disgust, knowing the answer. Because Brian was a man of science, damn him, and they'd no doubt need his disciplined mind to decode any medical jargon they might come across in those old, dusty books. And Freddie was a soothing presence, quick with a kind word or a soft touch and enthusiastic to a tee, the bloody bugger, and he'd be needed to provide emotional support and motivational speeches to everyone as they dug through shelves of knowledge in search of a cure.   
  
Which left Roger, unscientific and unsympathetic, good for only digging in the dirt, apparently. He gritted his teeth against the thought.  
  
Right turns, left turns, circular paths around trees - Roger batted irritably at wayward tree branches and moths as they traveled deeper into the forest with no apparent destination. He was just about to open his mouth to hurl a sass-infused insult at the Black Queen's back, when the bassist stopped short and Roger crashed into him.  
  
The Black Queen held up a long, pale finger as he studied the surrounding trees which, to Roger, all looked exactly the same. And then, finding exactly what he was looking for, he lifted the lantern high so that the flame cast an eerie orange light on the single most terrifying tree Roger had ever seen in his life.  
  
Startled, Roger let out an involuntary gasp of alarm and took two giant steps back. The Black Queen looked over his shoulder at him, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.  
  
So the devil tree was a marker, Roger thought suspiciously to himself as the Black Queen began to dig in the dirt a foot away from the tree. But a marker for what?  
  
_Fucking hideous,_ Roger thought as he shuddered, sinking his shovel into the earth and eyeing the tree with the utmost distrust. It was quite unnerving how the branches shot straight up into the sky like reaching arms. Very strange that each branch had little scraggly twig fingers, curled like claws. And why was it leaning to the left that way, as if were ready to collapse to the ground?  
  
But perhaps the worst part was the wide gaping mouth at the center of the trunk, and two round empty holes that served as eyes. It was so obviously a face, like a jack-o-lantern, and it was clearly meant to frighten away ne'er-do-wells.  
  
Roger momentarily wished Brian were there, so he could ask if the tree was dead. It sure as hell looked like it; it was black as death itself, shedding it's rot upon the forest floor.  
  
He glanced at the Black Queen, who was digging with a ferocious intensity; Roger guessed he was thinking of Ronnie. And, not to be outdone, Roger dug just as hard and just as fast. If all he was good for was digging, then he'd be the best damn digger this side of...wherever the hell they were. Doom and gloom castle in the woods indeed.  
  
They dug into the cold, dark earth for what seemed like an eternity until they finally struck something hard. The Black Queen threw out an arm to indicate that Roger should stop, before he fell to his knees and worked the earth with his fingers.  
  
Roger's eyes widened when the Black Queen pulled out a wooden box, opened the lid, and lifted out a thick, giant tome with a black leather cover and nigh on a thousand pages.  
  
Curiosity overcame Roger's apprehension and he leaned forward to read the crude, red lettering on the cover that spelled out the book's title:  
  
 _On Dark Magic and Forbidden Spells_  
  
Slowly, Roger lifted his eyes to the Black Queen's face and met his direct white gaze, which was filled with defiance, daring Roger to object.  
  
Roger stared back at him with blatant disbelief. The Black Queen couldn't control his magic on a good day and yet he expected to cast a successful healing spell on Ronnie tonight, while using dark, forbidden magic when he was overtly distraught?  
  
Roger's upper lip curled into an expression of disgust.   
  
So the Black Queen was Ronnie's last hope, was he? Well, as far as Roger was concerned, Ronnie didn't stand a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much everyone for continuing to read, comment, and kudos! It's appreciated more than I can say. Please don't be shy - I'd love to know what you think thus far!


	11. Chapter 11

"You have got to be joking!"   
  
John looked up at Roger from under menacing eyebrows, making it clear that he was doing no such thing, before he dropped his gaze back down to the enormous spellbook on his lap.   
  
After that, he only looked up to glance nervously at Ronnie's motionless form, which he did precisely every ninety seconds or so. However, his quick fingers never stopped moving; they flipped page after page after page, searching for a miracle.  
  
The four bandmates were alone in the second floor bedroom with their critically ill friend; Anita had escorted Sarina, who hadn't slept in nigh on two days, to a nearby bedroom to rest, with express instructions to fetch her immediately if Ronnie's condition should further deteriorate.  
  
Roger hadn't been able to find his voice in the cold darkness of the forest, but now that they were safely in the castle, surrounded by the warm glow of an oil lamp and at least a dozen candles, he couldn't seem to hold his tongue.  
  
"You don't even know how to control your own magic!" he continued ruthlessly as he paced around the room. "And yet you're going to risk performing a dark spell on her?"  
  
"Ssshh!" Brian hissed from the chair at Ronnie's bedside, where he was holding her hand, one finger pressed against the radial artery in her wrist, monitoring her pulse.  
  
"She can't hear us, Brian!" Roger snapped. "She's unconscious!"  
  
The soft whisper of pages turning stopped abruptly as John found something of interest. His white eyes scanned the text urgently.  
  
"What is it, Deaky?" Brian asked quietly. "Did you find something?"  
  
John nodded.  
  
Brian caught Roger by the sleeve when his voyage to and fro across the room brought him near enough and planted the drummer in the chair by the bed. He then took Roger's finger and placed it against the appropriate artery of Ronnie's wrist, with instructions to alert them if the pulse changed.  
  
Circling the bed to where John was seated on Ronnie's other side, Brian peered over the bassist's shoulder.  
  
The spell that John's forefinger was pointing to was entitled _Illness Cure Spell;_ a spell that would require John to recite the appropriate words while sending a burst of magic into Ronnie's core. It seemed straightforward enough, except for one small problem: Brian had never actually seen John use his magic intentionally. He had only ever witnessed John's magic activated, quite accidentally, by emotional distress.  
  
"John, do you know how to direct your magic?" Brian asked, trying to keep the doubt out of his voice.  
  
John had clearly been expecting this question; in response, he turned to the nearest candle and narrowed his eyes. He inhaled and the flame slowly rose higher and higher, until John released it by closing his eyes.  
  
Freddie, who had been uncharacteristically quiet as he stared out the window into the night, turned in surprise. "When did you learn to do that, darling?"  
  
John shrugged and Freddie's face softened. "You've been practicing for her, haven't you?"  
  
John's cheekbones flushed slightly, before he nodded.  
  
Brian, who had been studying the spell in question during this exchange, let out a soft exhale of unease. "The Illness Cure Spell is very similar to another spell. In fact, it's almost identical."   
  
John's eyes followed Brian's finger to the opposite page and the bold heading at the top that said, quite plainly and unapologetically, _Pregnancy Spell.  
_  
Overcome with curiosity, Freddie hurried across the room to peer over John's other shoulder, just as Roger leaned forward, raised his eyebrows, and exclaimed, "Pregnancy Spell!"  
  
"Congratulations Roger," Brian said brightly. "You can read upside down!"  
  
As Roger scowled, Freddie snorted. "I can think of plenty of more amusing ways to bring about a pregnancy rather than some boring spell."  
  
John felt his ears turn pink but he was saved from further conversation on the matter by Brian's voice.  
  
"It appears the only difference is where in her body you direct your magic," he said, before aiming a solemn look at John, "which will make this exceedingly tricky."  
  
"How so?" Freddie inquired.  
  
Brian pulled Freddie to the foot of the bed and placed a hand over his navel.  
  
"That tickles, darling," Freddie said in a dignified voice.  
  
Brian ignored him. "To cast the Illness Cure Spell successfully, John must aim his magic here, at Ronnie's core. That will activate healing. But..."  
  
Brian moved his hand down to Freddie's lower abdomen as he continued to demonstrate the scientific anatomy of this particular branch of dark magic.  
  
"...if John's magic somehow slips down here, to Ronnie's womb, the magic will cease to heal," he continued. "Instead, it will take on the job of _creating,_ and it will ignite the Pregnancy Spell..."  
  
"...and create a baby?" Roger whispered.  
  
Brian nodded gravely.  
  
"And if Deaky is obviously aiming for Ronnie's core, what sort of magical mishap would direct the magic to her womb instead?" Freddie asked.  
  
Brian hesitated before he answered. "Emotion."  
  
Freddie flinched almost violently, as if he had been shocked by an electric fence, as the realization that John _couldn't_ control his emotions bit him sharply in the arse. The bassist may have been practicing, and he may have successfully learned to manipulate a flame, but Deaky's emotions were already in danger at the moment because the woman he loved was progressively dying.  
  
Freddie's alarm steadily rose as it became quite clear that there may be unwanted consequences to saving Ronnie's life.  
  
"Fucking outrageous!" he hissed suddenly. "Who in their right mind would create two practically identical spells and make this so bloody difficult?"  
  
"There's a reason they're linked together like that," Brian said softly. "They both involve the gift of life. And there's a reason why it's so difficult. These spells are _forbidden,_ they're not for just anyone to tamper with. It takes great skill to direct magic one way or the other."  
  
"How do you know all this?" Roger asked suspiciously.  
  
"I read the fine print at the bottom of the page," Brian said simply, before his face brightened with enthusiasm. "Did you know that the Pregnancy Spell was created a thousand years ago?"  
  
"No, I did not know that," Roger replied in a voice that indicated he had not cared to know that, either.  
  
Brian ignored Roger's indifference. "It was created by a wizard who was in the service of a king with a barren wife. If they didn't supply the kingdom with an heir, they were going to lose the throne, and the king loved her too much to take on another wife."  
  
"Ah, hence the birth of the Pregnancy Spell," Freddie said ironically and Roger smirked at his pun.  
  
"But what if he - " Roger nodded towards John with a look of extreme distaste "-casts the Pregnancy Spell instead of the Cure Spell?"   
  
"If he casts the Pregnancy Spell," Brian explained, "he'll plant life within her and her body will be forced to adapt to support that life..."  
  
"...and she'll still live," Freddie finished in an astonished whisper.  
  
Silence fell heavily over the room and all eyes turned to John, who had taken Ronnie's left hand in his, his head bowed as he pressed his forehead against her cold knuckles, his fingertip tracing the ring on her finger - _his_ ring.  
  
"Darling, I'm afraid the choice is yours," Freddie said quietly.   
  
Brian nodded. "You now know the potential repercussions of the spell."  
  
John lifted his head, his disembodied voice breaking through the silence. _I'll weave my spell.  
_  
"You don't look convinced," Roger said sharply. "Don't you dare even _think_ about attempting this if you're not certain!"  
  
John flung a dark look his way before his eyes found Freddie's.   
  
"Well, yes," Freddie agreed. "That's true."  
  
"What?" Roger demanded. "What did he say?"  
  
"He said he doesn't have a choice in the matter, that if he doesn't try, she'll..." Freddie shrugged uncomfortably, as if he were trying to shake a rat from his shoulders, before finishing delicately, "...ehm...cease to exist."  
  
Roger leapt to his feet, still holding Ronnie's wrist as he leaned over her body, as if he were guarding it from the Black Queen, and fixed John with a glare. "If you're not certain, _you'll_ be the one to kill her, not this bloody illness!"  
  
John's arm shot out and grasped Roger's shirt, pulling him so close that they were practically nose to nose. But before one could overpower the other, a piercing howl made everyone stop and listen.   
  
It was a few moments before they realized it was merely the wind, whistling as it surrounded the castle and rattled the window panes.  
  
Brian sighed and rubbed his aching temples. "A storm is coming."  
  
John released Roger and stared down at Ronnie with a look that was a heartbreaking mixture of determination and desperation.

 _Hear my darkest fear._  
  
"What's your darkest fear, Deaky?" Brian asked, before he turned to Freddie, knowing he already had the answer.  
  
Freddie's eyes were alight with sympathy as he read John's mind. "He says he could live with the White Queen's fear of him, terrible as that was, but he couldn't bear her hatred of him. And if he were to lose control of his magic and activate the wrong spell, he's sure she would hate him."  
  
"I don't think Ronnie is capable of hating anybody," Brian pointed out. "She has one of the softest hearts I've ever known."  
  
Roger recoiled suddenly as his eyes darted from his fingers on Ronnie's wrist to her face. "Well, the beating of that heart is fading fast."  
  
Brian and Freddie exchanged glances that were ridden with anxiety, before Brian put a firm hand on John's shoulder. "John, you must try and keep your emotions under control..."  
  
"But we do trust you to do that, darling," Freddie intercepted encouragingly.  
  
"Yes," Brian agreed. "You went and retrieved the spellbook, believing you could do this. The existence of the Pregnancy Spell shouldn't change that."  
  
He then backed towards the door and beckoned to Roger to follow.  
  
"But I want to watch," Roger protested.  
  
"I doubt very highly that he'll be able to perform the spell successfully with your judgmental eyes on him, darling," Freddie muttered, grasping his friend's sleeve and dragging him towards the door. They all disappeared into the hallway.   
  
The door opened just once more, seconds later, to reveal Roger's face, his features cold as stone.  
  
"Just don't misfire!" he said bluntly.  
  
And then he was gone and John was left alone with the enormity of his task.  
  
\---  
  
John got into position quickly, knowing he didn't have much time. Within a few moments, he was sitting upon the bed with his back pressed against the headboard, Ronnie balanced carefully in his lap. The giant spellbook sat open before him; the bold black letters that spelled out **_Pregnancy Spell_ **practically a knife in his ribs.  
  
He pushed all his disorienting thoughts away and took three deep, shaky breaths. He had only one chance to get this right.  
  
 _No emotions,_ he warned himself. _Only cold, calculated, focused, practical magic._  
  
Very difficult to do, considering that the moment he cradled Ronnie in the crook of his right arm and looked down at her, his mind was flooded with an alarming rush of emotional thoughts that made him dizzy. He forced them into a locked cavern deep within his soul.  
  
Thunder rumbled from the mountains in the distance, echoing a thunder deep within John's heart as he swiftly pushed his hand beneath her chemise, wishing the spell didn't require bare skin to skin contact. Shaking that thought away as well, he placed the palm of his left hand against Ronnie's abdomen, directly over her navel, just like Brian had demonstrated before.  
  
Pressing his hand firmly into her soft skin, he closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and summoned that mysterious and often frightening whirlwind within him, that energy that was always pulsating through his veins. In his mind, he envisioned the magic as a ball that he had rolled with his own hands, silver and gold with a glimmer of hope.  
  
He was in control.  
  
John's left arm tightened with tension, anticipating the moment he would set that magic free. The feeling was exhilarating, quite like dangling off the edge of a cliff, waiting for the right moment to let go.  
  
All that was left to do now was recite the spell. He didn't need to open his eyes to read it; he had already memorized it and though he couldn't recite the words aloud, he mouthed them silently as he projected his voice into Ronnie's mind.  
  
 _Oh, oh children of the land_  
 _Quicken to the new life_  
 _Take my hand_  
 _Fly and find the new green bough_  
 _Return like the white dove_  
  
Without hesitation, John relaxed his arm and opened his heart, releasing a magic that burned blue in his fingertips as it touched Ronnie's skin and smoothly penetrated her body. He imagined Ronnie's core, that space within her that was the center of all life, and implored the magic to infiltrate that space and _only_ that space. As he finished his thought, he felt the magic intensify, taking root within her and grasping tightly to her center.  
  
Now he was to repeat the spell, with more feeling.  
  
 _Oh, oh children of the land_  
 _Quicken to the new life_  
 _Take my hand_  
 _Fly and find the new green bough_  
 _Return like the white dove_  
  
Breathless with the effort, John kept his hand pinned to Ronnie's stomach, feeling the powerful effects of the magic making his left arm tremble. He grit his teeth with the effort, his mind clear and his heart devoid of emotion, until...  
  
Until he felt a hand on his own.  
  
John's eyes flew open in surprise and he glanced down to see Ronnie's fingers curling around his hand, the same hand that was pressed against her midsection. His chest swelled with an unbridled hope because she had actually _moved,_ and surely that meant she was emerging from the coma, and as he looked down upon her face, beautifully lit by the various candles around the room, he felt a powerful feeling welling up in his chest...  
  
Lightning flashed, following by a sharp clap of thunder, roughly reminding John that he had to fight any emotions that surfaced. He emptied his mind of thoughts, and rid his heart of all feeling, and hoped against hope that his unmistakable love for her (which had certainly not been invited to this spell casting) hadn't shot the magic straight to where it wasn't supposed to be, in the span of only ten seconds.  
  
He wrangled the magic, concentrating only on her core, on a healing blue light that would save her, and felt himself in command once more. He repeated the spell again, just in case...  
  
 _Oh, oh children of the land_  
 _Quicken to the new life_  
 _Take my hand_  
 _Fly and find the new green bough_  
 _Return like the white dove_  
  
It was then that a bright, brilliant light spread through Ronnie's entire body, causing her skin to glow a translucent blue, and she began to convulse violently.  
  
Fear dropped into John's stomach, heavy as a stone, and he removed his hand instantly, because he knew fear was an emotion that could potentially ignite that _other_ spell. He didn't know if the light and the convulsing was part of the process but somehow, it didn't seem very healing to him. Had something gone terribly wrong?  
  
John's first instinct was to adapt a logical approach to this terrifying situation; to take scientific steps to solve the problem. After all, that's what he had always done before the curse. And so, still holding Ronnie tightly, he leaned forward and re-read both spells at least three times before his heart severely told him that this was nothing like fixing a broken object, this was nothing at all like building things with his hands.  
  
That's when he let his emotions take over; they crashed over him like a wave, sweeping logic away, and he found himself running his fingers through Ronnie's hair, caressing her cheek, squeezing her fingers, and whispering repeatedly into her mind, like a broken record...  
  
 _...return like the white dove, return like the white dove, return like the white dove..._  
  
...because he needed her to return to consciousness, to this earth, to him. Even though he was certain she didn't feel even a fraction of what he felt for her, or if she felt anything for him at all, he still needed her to return for _him._  
  
And then she went still.  
  
John's clumsy fingers fumbled along her neck for a pulse and when he couldn't find one, he pressed a hand against her heart, to ensure that it was beating, but he was so distraught by the possibility that he was the one who was killing her that he couldn't detect the signs of life that were clearly there...  
  
Biting down on his lower lip, which was trembling violently, John held Ronnie against his chest and buried his face in her hair as he whispered into her mind, as if desperate words could save her.   
  
_Please don't go_  
  
\---  
  
Ronnie's eyes shot open.  
  
 _Don't leave me here all by myself_  
  
Furrowing her brow in concern, she dismissed the voice in her head for the time being and wondered why there was no light. No sunlight, no candlelight, just...darkness. And then she realized that's because her cheek was pressed into someone's shoulder and she was surrounded by a safe canopy of long, dark hair.  
  
She lifted her head slowly; although she no longer felt pain, her body felt very heavy. As she sat up straight on the lap she was perched on, she gazed into John's astonished face.  
  
Ronnie tilted her head slightly, studying him with a puzzled expression as she relived the last three days, remembering how ill she had been and how the Great Sickness had almost claimed her, but it hadn't because of...  
  
...because of him. She felt his magic tingling through her veins, not unpleasantly, and his voice reciting the spell echoed through her mind.  
  
A cold rush of air enveloped her as John dropped his arms away from her, self-consciously averting his eyes, no doubt expecting her to flinch away from him.  
  
But she didn't.   
  
At that moment, Ronnie didn't fear him anymore and it made her feel incredibly sad that he should think that she did. And wanting him to know that there was no longer any fear, she threw her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his neck.  
  
"Thank you," she whispered, her fingers tightening in the folds of his shirt. _"Thank you."_  
  
She felt him hesitate, as if he couldn't quite believe what was happening, before he slowly reacted, wrapping his arms around her in return.   
  
Ronnie felt something warm drop onto her bare shoulder and from the corner of her eye, she saw a small drop of blood. She frowned, wondering if she was bleeding from her ear, before she realized exactly what it was.  
  
When John had transported her into the past, to the day of the Ogre Battle, there had been drops of blood on his face, on his fingers, in the sand...  
  
Because he didn't cry tears. He cried blood.  
  
Ronnie held John tighter.  
  
\---  
  
It was the most wonderful feeling to be woken by sunlight instead of nightmares.  
  
As Ronnie opened her eyes to rays of radiant sunbeams warming the bedroom, she was overcome with gratitude. She was alive, she was well, and she was...  
  
A radiant glimmer caught her attention and her eyes were drawn to her hand on the pillow, where the sunlight was glinting off an unfamiliar ring on her finger.  
  
...and she was loved?  
  
Ronnie was hit quite suddenly by a powerful gust of memories, slightly bleary and wavering around the edges, but she was sure they were real...  
  
The unsettling nightmare, the visions of shadow people darting from corner to corner in the bedroom, Sarina's soft voice...  
  
 _I need you to give her a sign, some indication of your love for her..._  
  
And then someone slipping a ring onto her finger, and being held tightly through much of the night, and a voice she could have sworn was John's...  
  
 _I'm cold, but you light the fire in me..._  
  
Had she imagined it?  
  
"No, darling. You didn't imagine it."  
  
Ronnie rolled over to see Freddie lounging in the chair by her bed. Though his eyes were very tired, a smile danced around his lips.  
  
"I didn't?" Ronnie whispered as she sat up.  
  
Freddie didn't answer until he had reached his arms above his head to engage in a dramatic mid-morning stretch.  
  
"He cares very deeply for you, my dear," he finally said, settling back in the chair and fixing her with a meaningful stare.  
  
Ronnie's eyes drifted away from Freddie's inquiring expression as she observed the room she was in for the first time. The big, comfortable bed she was sitting in was covered with blankets of black velvet; the furniture, though very dark, was a lovely mahogany. A man's bedroom, then...  
  
In one corner, there was a beautifully curved bass guitar, the early morning light reflecting off it's polished black surface. And on the bureau, surrounded by candles that had melted down to stubs, was a dismembered clock, it's inner workings scattered across the surface, as if someone had keenly been trying to figure out how it operated...  
  
"This is his room, isn't it?" Ronnie asked, her voice slightly hoarse from days without speaking.  
  
"What gave it away?" Freddie asked, clearly amused. "That gorgeous instrument in the corner? The clock he murdered just so he can figure out how to put it back together again?"  
  
Ronnie felt her face break into a smile, remembering all the nights John had sat around the campfire while Freddie, Brian, and Roger argued. He had never joined in, instead choosing to quietly investigate the innards of whatever gadget happened to be on hand.  
  
"Freddie, I want to help him," Ronnie said suddenly.  
  
"With the clock?"  
  
Ronnie laughed, though it sounded more like the croak of an old bullfrog. "No! I want to break his curse."  
  
The glint of merriment in Freddie's lovely brown eyes disappeared, leaving him looking very serious indeed. "Do you mean it, darling? As I recall, just a few short weeks ago, you weren't so sure."  
  
"I know better now," Ronnie said softly. "I know now that he would do no less for me."  
  
"You've got that right, my dear," Freddie agreed, before his face brightened with unsuppressed excitement. "It's settled then! I'll devise a series of trust-related exercises and -"  
  
The formation of those very important plans were interrupted by a sharp rap on the door. Whoever was on the other side wasted no time with formalities, or "come ins!", and as the door swung open, four jubilant faces appeared.  
  
Ronnie let out a gasp of pleased surprise as she was enveloped by arms, so many different pairs of arms; a prolonged group hug that consisted of Brian, Roger, Anita, and Sarina. She didn't think she had ever felt so loved in her entire life.  
  
But speaking of which, someone was missing...  
  
Ronnie lifted her gaze from Brian's shoulder, where her chin was resting comfortably, to the door, where John was hovering uncertainly. When her eyes met his, a deep red flushed his pale cheeks and he looked away.  
  
Somehow, Ronnie knew he was remembering what he had confessed to her that very dark midnight, when she had been submerged by illness. That he was realizing she knew exactly how he felt about her now. There hadn't been time to think about that last night, with the important business of spellcasting and healing, and the immense relief that had followed.  
  
Ronnie didn't want him to feel embarrassed, and her heart sank faintly when he turned, reluctant to enter the celebratory atmosphere.  
  
\---  
  
That night, Ronnie got thoroughly lost in a book that Roger had so thoughtfully picked out from the library. Although she had been advised by Sarina to lay down and recover, Ronnie was already feeling restless and had propped herself up against the headboard.  
  
She was so consumed by the adventure on the page that she didn't realize she wasn't alone at first. Only when she felt someone's eyes on her did she finally look up to see John leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded as he watched her, the corner of his mouth lifted into the smallest of smiles.   
  
The sweetness of that smile was the first thing she noticed before her eyes found the crown of thorns on his head. And without fully realizing what she was doing, she put her book aside, slipped off the bed, and took a step towards him.  
  
She stumbled; she was still very weak from the illness and spending so many days bedbound. John's smile disappeared as he rushed forward to steady her.  
  
Ronnie grasped his shoulders, feeling slightly dizzy. But as she felt solid ground reassuringly under her feet, she looked up at him with a soft smile of thanks, before her gaze settled once more on the crown.  
  
Something deep inside told her not to do it, that it was too soon, that she would just disappoint them both. But her heart argued against it; he had saved her life, after all, and if she didn't trust him before, surely she must now...  
  
Ronnie reached up, placed her hands on the thorny crown, and attempted to remove it. But just like the first time she had tried, it remained stubbornly affixed to his head.  
  
John, who had been watching her carefully the entire time, dropped his gaze to the floor. Ronnie felt a surge of regret because he had saved her and in return, she had reminded him that she mistrusted him.  
  
 _It won't happen immediately, darling, so don't be too hard on yourself._  
  
That was Freddie's voice in her head; that's what he had told her earlier when they had finally got a moment alone to discuss the matter.  
  
"I will remove the crown one day," Ronnie whispered, her voice determined.  
  
John looked up, his darkly arched eyebrows furrowed in surprise.  
  
"I'm going to break the curse," Ronnie continued earnestly. "I just need a little bit of time, that's all."  
  
 _After all,_ Freddie had said. _These things take time. We're going to need to build trust, brick by bloody brick._  
  
And she was laying the first brick down now, though it was, preferably, unbloodied.   
  
John's face softened and he nodded. Though he couldn't articulate it to her in words, she could sense his overwhelming feeling of gratitude in the way his fingers tightened on her waist.  
  
"Ronnie?" Sarina's voice called from down the hallway. "Are you out of bed?"  
  
"No!" Ronnie said loudly. She grinned at John and his eyes crinkled in amusement as he ducked his head, a laugh shaking his shoulders. And then, realizing the imminent danger of Sarina finding out the truth, he pushed her gently towards the bed.  
  
Ronnie curled up on her side, folding her fists under her chin, and remembered John's ring. As John made himself comfortable in the chair by the bed, she removed the ring from her finger and held it out to him. Ever since she had woken that morning, she had been unsure if it had been his intention that she keep it, or if it was merely a loan, something that had been meant to comfort her in the darkest part of that one dreadful night.  
  
John shook his head, folded her fingers over the ring, and laid her fist upon the pillow, indicating that it was hers.  
  
Ronnie stared at him in astonishment. She had never been given a ring so freely before; she had practically had to obtain Valentino's by force.   
  
To think of Valentino had been a mistake; her eyes filled very suddenly with bright tears. Though the very thought of John's feelings for her filled her with a sense of wonder that was a balm to the hole Valentino had shot through her heart, it still wasn't enough to heal it. At least, not yet.  
  
And Ronnie knew perfectly well that Valentino wasn't worth her tears or her regret, but she had still devoted two years of her life to him. Therefore, it was only natural that it would take more than a week to get over him.  
  
John must have sensed where her thoughts had gone, for he leaned forward and rested his elbows upon the bed. His voice wrapped itself around her like arms, making her toes tingle.  
  
 _Go to sleep and dream again_  
 _Soon your hopes will rise and then_  
  
He brushed a wayward lock of hair out of her eyes.  
  
 _From all this gloom life can start anew_  
 _And there'll be no crying soon_  
  
John pressed his thumb against the corner of her left eye, where a tear was forming. And then he smiled very softly at her and turned out the light.   
  
And that's how Ronnie fell asleep that night; with his ring pressed against her palm and his eyes glowing white, a beacon of hope in the darkness.  
  
\---  
  
There was a deep, red indentation on the palm of Ronnie's hand the next morning, where the ring had sat all night long, but she didn't mind. She merely peeled it off her skin and placed it on one of the fingers of her right hand.  
  
But then she reconsidered. Though the ring finger on her left hand was reserved for a wedding band, there couldn't be any harm in...  
  
Ronnie twisted John's ring off her right finger and slipped it onto her wedding band finger, where John had placed it a few nights before.  
  
\---  
  
 **One Week Later**  
  
Ronnie opened the bedroom door a crack and peeked out.  
  
The second floor hallway was quite empty. No one to tell her to go back to bed, or drink another glass of water, or read another book (though she didn't mind that part so much). No one to insist that she rest, when she felt as if she had rested enough to last her a lifetime.  
  
With a sigh of relief, she opened the door fully with her foot and emerged from her room with an armful of sheets. It was early in the morning and she had a very important mission to complete by nightfall.  
  
Ronnie made her way down the stairs - very carefully, because it simply wouldn't do to trip on one of the sheets and crack her head on the banister at the bottom after John had worked so hard to save her life - and recruited the first person she saw to escort her to the river in the woods.  
  
Roger. He looked mournfully towards the kitchen.  
  
"I'll make you a whole plateful of eggs if you come with me," Ronnie said enticingly. "And I'll boast about your charm and wit in front of Sarina."  
  
"Done," Roger said solemnly and accompanied her to the forest.  
  
It was a cool morning, on the cusp of late autumn, but Roger dutifully plunged his hands into the icy cold water and assisted Ronnie with washing the sheets. Ronnie looked over and gave him a grateful smile; he was, without a doubt, earning the good word she was going to put in for him with Sarina.  
  
She didn't tell him she would have done that anyway, sheets or no sheets.  
  
By late morning, the sheets were hanging off a second floor balcony railing and by the time dusk was casting purple shadows upon the ground, they were back on the bed.  
  
The group of travelers-turned-castle dwellers spent the evening in the library, warmed by a roaring fire and excellent conversation. They didn't decide to retire until close to midnight, when the fire had died down and a companionable silence had fallen over the room.  
  
Moments later, on the second floor, Ronnie turned at the bedroom door to see John smiling and raising a hand to bid her goodnight. He then began to ascend the staircase that led to one of the turrets.  
  
"John, wait," she said quickly.  
  
John turned and waited patiently.  
  
As everyone disappeared into their respective bedrooms, Ronnie took John's hand and pulled him into the room she had been occupying for almost two weeks. She brought him over to the bed and sat him down on it.  
  
"I'm returning your room to you," she said officially.  
  
John titled his head, studying her face, before he shook his head and got to his feet.  
  
Planting her hands firmly on his shoulders, Ronnie pushed him back down onto the bed. "This is your room and though I'm grateful you let me borrow it while I was ill, I want you to have it back now."  
  
John opened his mouth, remembered he couldn't speak, and folded his arms instead, fixing her with a stern stare she would have found unnerving a month ago.   
  
"I washed the sheets and everything," Ronnie added.  
  
John's gaze softened as he prodded a gentle finger into her shoulder and widened his blank, white eyes meaningfully. Though he hadn't said anything, she knew what he was trying to tell her. He wanted her to stay in the room.  
  
"I won't steal your room," Ronnie whispered as she took two steps back.  
  
John, still gallantly protesting in silence, watched her, sensing that she was about to run. He stayed absolutely still until the moment she turned and that's when he lunged at her from the bed.  
  
For once, Ronnie was quicker. She slipped out the door, shut it, and hanging on tightly to the doorknob, leaned backward.  
  
Keeping the door tightly closed and John trapped within the room worked....for five seconds. John managed to wrench the door open; the momentum caused her to stumble forward but before he could catch her, she ran up the staircase that led to his turret bedroom.  
  
But John's legs were longer than hers and halfway up the stairs, he caught her effortlessly around the waist. As he scooped her into his arms, Ronnie squirmed and kicked her legs in vain. "John, let me go!"  
  
The corner of John's mouth twitched. _No, no..._  
  
"I won't stay here tonight!" Ronnie protested, as he carried her towards the bed.  
  
 _No, no..._  
  
"Which means _you_ have to," Ronnie continued, "or the clean sheets will go to waste!"  
  
 _No, no, NO_  
  
John dragged the covers back, dropped her gently onto the clean sheets in question, and planted his hands on his hips in triumph. Quite flustered, Ronnie blew a strand of hair from her face and stared up at his satisfied expression, which clearly said that she had been the one to touch the sheets first, therefore she was the one who was obliged to take the bed.  
  
Ronnie fell back against the pillows as weariness finally overcame her. She had survived her first big day out of bed _and_ got to stay up late, and all that excitement was now taking it's toll.  
  
"You win," she told John.  
  
John nodded in agreement as he sat beside her on the bed. _You lose._  
  
They stared at each other, each assessing the other carefully, before they both burst out laughing.  
  
And that's when Ronnie saw, for the very first time, John's face light up with a grin that exposed his pointed teeth. Those teeth had frightened her at first, all those weeks ago, but now she felt her heart unexpectedly flooded with warmth as her smile faded and she watched him with awe.  
  
As John's laughter subsided, he saw her expression and his eyes widened in alarm as he realized that he was so carelessly exposing his fanged teeth. He quickly covered his mouth with his hand.  
  
"No," Ronnie said immediately, pulling his hand away so that she could see his face. "Don't hide. You...you have a beautiful smile."  
  
John blushed and looked down at his hands.  
  
 _The most beautiful smile I've ever seen,_ Ronnie thought to herself and suddenly feeling quite shy, she let go of his hand.


	12. Chapter 12

**Halloween  
**  
Brian sighed with relief as he stepped out of Ronnie's room and sent a silent prayer of gratitude up to the heavens, thanking them that she wasn't showing any signs of pregnancy.  
  
Brian, Freddie, and Roger had been monitoring her for symptoms ever since John had cast the Illness Cure Spell two weeks before. Of course, Ronnie didn't actually _know_ that and they did not yet have plans to tell her, though they _had_ spent one distressing evening by the fire in the library, wrestling with their consciences...  
  
 _"Of course we should tell her!" Brian had exclaimed. "We have no right to keep this from her!"  
_  
 _"And what exactly are we keeping from her?" Freddie asked in a slightly offended tone.  
_  
 _Before Brian could answer, Freddie interrupted him with an answer to his own question. "Nothing, that's what! We are not keeping_ any _secrets from her because she is not actually pregnant!"  
_  
 _"How do you know that?" Roger asked warily.  
_  
 _"He has no way of knowing that!" Brian retorted. "It's only been a week! I've read that women don't begin showing signs of pregnancy until at least their third month."  
_  
 _"Well, that may be true of an ordinary pregnancy," Freddie argued, "but this would be a_ magical _pregnancy. It wouldn't be the same thing."  
_  
 _"We don't know that for sure," Brian countered.  
_  
 _"Think about it, darling! Wouldn't a magical pregnancy have to make itself known almost immediately in order for the spellcaster to know it had worked?_ _"_

  
 _"Like King Who's-His-Face a million years ago," Roger pointed out.  
_  
 _"A thousand years ago," Brian corrected him irritably.  
_  
 _"Roger's right," Freddie acknowledged. "The wizard who cast the spell back then didn't have time to be dilly-dallying around for three months to see if the Pregnancy Spell worked; he had a kingdom to save!"  
_  
 _Brian thought very carefully about this. "Well, I suppose that is a valid point, yes..."  
_  
 _Silence permeated the book-infused room, until Roger grumbled, "We're probably wasting our breath. The Black Queen likely told her already."  
_  
 _Freddie and Brian exchanged curious glances; this hadn't occurred to either of them.  
_  
 _"I don't think he has, darling," Freddie finally said. "I've seen no trace of it in his mind. I think that relief that she's alive, along with his love for her, swept it right out of his head."  
_  
 _"I can put it back in his mind, if you'd like," Roger said casually, though his eyes were gleaming mischievously.  
_  
 _"Roger," Brian warned. "Leave him be."  
_  
 _"We will most certainly_ not _remind Deaky of that night," Freddie said decisively. "And we won't say anything to Ronnie, either."  
_  
 _Brian opened his mouth to protest, but Freddie plunged forth with his explanation.  
_  
 _"Why worry the poor dear with petty details when we're not certain? I say we watch her closely and if her forecast looks like it holds a chance of babies, then - and only then! - will we tell her. Are we decided?" Freddie held out a hand, indicating they should shake on it.  
_  
 _Roger slapped his own hand upon the vocalist's in silent agreement.  
_  
 _Brian hesitated. "I have a very bad feeling about this."  
_  
 _"Oh for the love of whores, Brian," Roger muttered as he grabbed Brian's hand and trapped it between his and Freddie's._  
  
Brian had been walking very slowly through the hallway, reliving that uncomfortable moment - which felt very much like trickery - when he turned the corner and found Anita on her knees in front of Freddie's bedroom door.  
  
"Anita?" he said softly. If his eyes weren't deceiving him, it appeared she was poking a small knife through the keyhole.  
  
Anita jumped in surprise and the knife went flying. Brian ducked as it sailed over his head and hit the door behind him.  
  
The door opened a crack and a suspicious blue eye peered out at them. "Yes?"  
  
Brian opened his mouth to tell Roger that no one had actually knocked on his door, before he experienced a mild emotional flare up and suddenly felt the need to blame Roger for his guilt. After all, Roger had forced him to seal the deception deal by shaking on it, hadn't he?  
  
Well, perhaps _force_ wasn't quite the right word, but even so, in order to avenge his exhausted conscience, Brian made a show of peering around the corner before he straightened and shrugged. "Not sure who knocked on your door exactly. Must have been a ghost. Or maybe Deaky."  
  
Roger leered at them before he slowly withdrew back into the bedroom, his single blue eye watching them until the door closed.  
  
Brian turned back to Anita and blinked a few times. "Paranoia does not suit him."  
  
Anita, now fully recovered and on her feet, grinned at him.  
  
"When you're done fixing Freddie's lock, perhaps you could take a look at mine?" Brian nodded towards Freddie's door.  
  
Brian knew his eyes were full of laughter and that a smile was dancing along his lips, and so he was slightly confused when Anita's own smile vanished. What had he said wrong?  
  
He could see by the color rising in her cheeks that she had likely not been performing maintenance on Freddie's bedroom door.  
  
But why would she have need to break into Freddie's room?  
  
Anita swallowed hard and whispered, "Sure."  
  
Wishing to take her mind off whatever was clearly troubling her, Brian stepped closer and took Anita's hands in his own. "I'm glad I ran into you. I have something to ask you."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"We've all decided to stay here through the winter," Brian explained, "and escort Ronnie home in March, when the weather is fair. It's not safe to travel now, with the Great Sickness ravishing the land and with the blizzards that will come in January."  
  
Anita nodded, patiently waiting for his question.  
  
"Will you stay, too?" Brian asked hopefully.  
  
Anita's eyes lit up - was that relief he saw swimming in the white space around her lovely blue irises? Whatever it was, Brian felt his heart beat faster.  
  
"I'd like that," she answered softly.  
  
Though his plan had been to act casual, no matter what her answer may be, Brian felt a ridiculous smile spread across his face. He swept her into the gentlest of hugs.  
  
"As would I," he murmured into her ear.  
  
Ordinarily, this presumably friendly hug should have lasted five seconds at the most, and after passing that mark, Brian repeatedly told himself to let her go. But in the end, he didn't and Anita didn't ask him to.  
  
"Brian?" she whispered.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I..." Anita hesitated, before she dug her chin into his shoulder and said very quietly, "I was just looking for a book Freddie had borrowed from me. I wasn't..."  
  
Brian's arms tightened around her. "You don't have to explain yourself to me. Not now. Not ever."  
  
Anita let out a sigh of relief and Brian pulled back slightly so he could see her face.  
  
"Besides, I knew you wouldn't be breaking and entering for no reason," he added with a wink.  
  
A smile slowly spread across Anita's face but it disappeared when Freddie rounded the corner. Brian watched with unbridled curiosity as Freddie slowly and deliberately pulled a key from his pocket and made a show of unlocking his bedroom door. His narrowed gaze never left Anita's wide eyes.  
  
Something passed between them then; something unspoken, yet at the same time, louder than any words.  
  
As Anita pulled Brian down the hall, he wished for the very first - and the very last - time that he had Freddie's ability to read minds.  
  
 **Later That Night**  
 **All Hallows' Eve**  
  
Ronnie signed her name at the bottom of the letter she had just penned to her parents, which explained that she was staying with friends for the winter until the Great Sickness abated...and conveniently left out the fact that she had been placed at death's door because of it. After all, there was no reason to worry them unnecessarily.  
  
Folding the parchment very carefully, she placed it in an envelope and dropped red wax on the seal. She reached for the large silver ring she had found in the desk and pressed it into the wax, revealing an ornate letter L.  
  
Tapping her chin thoughtfully, Ronnie wondered who the ring may have once belonged to. None of the men she was traveling with even had the letter L in their names.  
  
This thought was interrupted by the library door opening. Ronnie put the letter aside; Roger and Brian would take it with them in the morning on their journey to the nearest town for supplies.  
  
The inhabitants of the castle, along with a very sleepy tiger and a small friendly badger, made themselves cozy around the fire, as was their usual nightly custom by this time. And because it was no ordinary evening, being Halloween, Freddie had brought a large bottle of wine.  
  
To add to the celebration, Brian placed a small pumpkin on the small end table near the fire. Roger had carved a particularly chilling face into it; shadows danced from it's triangle eyes, thanks to a small candle that lit the pumpkin from within.  
  
They all settled themselves comfortably upon the various armchairs and settees around the fire while Freddie elaborately poured out glasses of wine. Ronnie sat beside John on a settee and, with her fingers wrapped around her own glass, watched curiously as Freddie hesitantly held out a glass of wine to John.  
  
A heavy glance passed between the two of them, one that spoke much louder than any words could have, though Ronnie couldn't decipher what the look meant. But in the end, John politely shook his head and Freddie, looking rather relieved, passed the wine glass to Sarina, instead.  
  
Ronnie vaguely remembered Freddie explaining John's absence at the River of Wine So Clear all those weeks ago....what was it he had said?  
  
 _How shall I put this delicately? Alcohol is not quite his...forte._  
  
Ronnie didn't have long to dwell upon it, for Freddie was brandishing his glass in the air and making an important announcement.  
  
"I'll have you all know, I've been very busy devising exercises in trust for Deaky and Ronnie. We should be able to start tomorrow."  
  
"Why not start tonight?" Brian suggested. "We could try the ole' falling backward routine. It's a classic example of trust."  
  
Roger leaned back in his chair and raised a critical eyebrow at Brian.  
  
"It's harder than it sounds," Anita said knowingly.  
  
"Very well then," Freddie said agreeably, before turning to John and Ronnie. "Have at it, darlings!"  
  
Ronnie looked over at John, who smiled shyly at her, before he stood and held out a hand to help her off the settee.  
  
"Now Ronnie, turn your back to him," Brian instructed. "And Deaky, you're going to hold your arms out and catch her as she falls backward."  
  
Ronnie did as she was told and, facing the fire, leaned backward slightly and...  
  
...found she couldn't do it. Her arms wobbled in mid-air before she thankfully regained the bit of balance she had lost.  
  
Freddie hurried over and taking her arms, he folded them over her chest.  
  
"That's it, darling," he murmured, "cross your arms like this, just like an Egyptian mummy..."

Roger grunted in approval, appreciating the appropriate allusion to the holiday they were attempting to celebrate.  
  
Ronnie tried twice more, but couldn't seem to get past the overpowering feeling of anxiety that was dominating her chest and preventing her from letting herself go.  
  
"Let your feet leave the ground, darling," Freddie offered gently.  
  
"Do you need me to push you?" Roger asked helpfully.  
  
"It won't work if you push her," Brian pointed out. "The entire point is that she has to _choose_ to fall. By choosing to fall, she's trusting Deaky will catch her."  
  
Ronnie ran a hand through her hair, before she nodded and took a deep breath. Staring into the flickering flames in the hearth, she reminded herself that she had nothing to fear. _Of course_ John would catch her.  
  
"You have to believe," Brian said to her, his face bright with encouragement, "really _believe_ that he'll catch you, Ronnie."  
  
But even so, just as she rocked back on her heels and prepared to drop back, something deep inside her unexpectedly made her reconsider. It was the wrong moment to change her mind; caught off balance, her hands clawed at the air as she tried to swing herself upright and tottering backwards, she stumbled ungracefully into John with a force he had not been anticipating.  
  
As he was knocked backward, he caught her and they fell to the ground together.  
  
"Ehm..." Brian tilted his head. "Not quite."  
  
"The single most terrifying trust exercise," Freddie snorted. "Why did we begin with this one?"  
  
"Because it's effective," Brian argued.  
  
From on top of John, Ronnie turned herself so that she was looking down at him and felt her ribs locked with his.  
  
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her heart filled with regret.  
  
Though John immediately offered her a reassuring smile (one that did not show his teeth; in fact, he hadn't shown her his teeth again since the night he had laughed without restraint), Ronnie had seen the doubt that lined his features before he swiftly wiped it away.  
  
"It's not you," Ronnie continued. "It's just...it's not easy to fall like that."  
  
John's white eyes searched hers, before he slowly nodded that he understood. Ronnie found herself mesmerized by those almost transparent silver irises; so clear to her now, but practically nonexistent when seen from afar. She leaned forward to get a closer look, to see if there was any hint in them of the gray that had been there before the curse.  
  
When her nose brushed John's, she jerked back, as if she had been shocked. She slowly lifted her head to see five pairs of curious eyes on her. Realizing she was pressed against John in a very compromising position, Ronnie rolled off of him.  
  
Freddie's eyes were sympathetic. "Another time, then, darling."  
  
Ronnie sighed and sat back on the settee with John, though this time, she left a gap between them.  
  
The castle dwellers were silent then, everyone lost in their own thoughts as the flames of the fire crackled and popped. Eventually, Freddie picked up the small pumpkin on the end table and declared that, in celebration of Halloween, ghost stories were in order.  
  
"I have a ghost story," Sarina said very quietly from her armchair.  
  
As Freddie, with much ceremony, bestowed the jack-o-lantern upon her, Brian regarded her with polite interest. "Do the gypsies celebrate Halloween, Sarina?"  
  
"We celebrate Samhain," Sarina answered amiably.  
  
"Samhain," Roger repeated in an awed whisper, though it wasn't clear if it was the mysterious word or Sarina herself who had instilled such wonder in him. Hiding a smile, Ronnie thought she knew the answer.  
  
"Yes," Sarina smiled. "The end of the harvest season and the beginning of the darker half of the year. Tonight, the gypsies will be observing the occasion with a bonfire and leaving out food and drink for the spirits, in an attempt to communicate with the dead."  
  
"Would they really come?" Roger asked with wide eyes.  
  
Sarina winked at him. "Well, tonight _is_ the night when the veil between worlds is the thinnest."  
  
"Is that how you came to see a ghost?" Anita asked curiously. "On Samhain?"  
  
Anita's smile faltered. "Actually, no. I saw the ghost almost three weeks ago, the morning we brought Ronnie to the castle."  
  
Ronnie felt a chill ripple down her spine. John sensed it from the other end of the settee and looked over at her in concern.  
  
"It was around three in the morning," Sarina said in a very quiet voice, "and it was still very dark."  
  
"The witching hour," Anita whispered. Ronnie offered Anita a sympathetic smile, recalling that Brian had once rescued her from a watery death at that hour.  
  
Sarina nodded. "Yes. I awoke to make a necessary trip into the woods and on my way back, there was a man. He was tall, with long hair in disarray all around his face. Not old, per say; I'd guess he was in his middle years. But he looked so very tired, and his eyes were sad. He was wearing a crown."  
  
The eerie chill at the base of Ronnie's spine intensified. As if in a trance, she slid down the length of the settee, towards John, though her eyes were fixed on Sarina, just beyond.  
  
Sarina stared down at the pumpkin that was grinning up at her. "He didn't say anything. He only pointed to the east, up a hill. I knew there was a graveyard on the top of that hill; the gypsies had come from that direction and we had passed it. And I couldn't think of why he wanted me to know about the graveyard and I had no time to ask, for he vanished."  
  
"Sarina, I saw him that morning, too," Ronnie whispered, as her hip made contact with John's. She felt his eyes upon her and knew he was watching her cautiously; that unease was written across her entire face.  
  
Sarina looked up in surprise.  
  
"He was sitting in the corner of the tomb," Ronnie said in a low voice. "He was twirling the crown around his finger and he nodded at me with a kind look, before he disappeared. I was so ill, I thought I was seeing visions."  
  
Sarina, usually so composed, looked stricken. "When I did go to the graveyard that morning, I ran directly into Brian, who told me you were terribly ill and brought me to you."  
  
"Bloody hell," Roger muttered to himself and Freddie lifted his wine glass in salute to that notion.  
  
"And the wild thing is, we were supposed to leave very early that morning," Sarina continued. "But I wanted to go up the hill to the graveyard before we left, to see if the ghost had left some kind of sign, so I delayed our departure by thirty minutes or so. Ronnie, if he hadn't come to me that night, I wouldn't have had any reason to go to the graveyard and we would have left early, as scheduled. I would have been gone before Brian found me and you..."  
  
"I'd be dead," Ronnie whispered.  
  
"Without Sarina, you wouldn't have begun the process of healing," Brian said softly. "And without Sarina, there would have been no horse to bring you to the castle."  
  
"And without the castle, Deaky wouldn't have access to the book of spells that saved you," Freddie added.  
  
"He was in my nightmare that night, too," Ronnie said to Sarina. "He was climbing a tree."  
  
Sarina smiled. "He was watching out for you even then."  
  
"But who was he?" Anita asked.  
  
"The man who's buried in that tomb," Sarina replied. "Great King Rat."  
  
A far off animal howled in the night and Anita gasped and jumped into Brian's arms. Though everyone laughed, there was an undercurrent of nervousness in that laughter.  
  
No more ghost stories were told after that; no one had any that could possibly surpass Sarina's true tale. And so, the wine was finished, the jack-o-lantern was extinguished, and the castle dwellers - all thoroughly unnerved - made their way to the grand staircase in the entryway.  
  
All except Roger, who disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a plate of cheese, which he placed reverently on the floor by the front door.  
  
"Whatever are you doing with that, darling?" Freddie asked, slightly astonished.  
  
"It's for the spirits," Roger informed him. "Samhain, you know."  
  
"Well, be a dear and leave them a glass of wine, too!"  
  
"I can't," Roger grumbled as he followed Freddie up the stairs. "You drank it all."   
  
As they disappeared, Ronnie was left staring up the stairs, one hand on the banister. She felt John's presence behind her.  
  
"John?" she whispered.  
  
John touched her shoulder in response to let her know he was there.  
  
"Catch me, please?"  
  
His voice tumbled through her mind; just half of a song lyric, but still there. _Of course..._  
  
And without giving herself time to think about it, Ronnie released the banister and let herself fall backward. She felt her heart shoot up into her throat, a manifestation of her alarm, but John caught her neatly under her armpits. Slowly and carefully, he lowered them both to the ground. He put his arms around her loosely and somehow, she knew that was John's way of thanking her for her trust, since he couldn't tell her as much with words.  
  
As her heart rate gradually slowed back to normal, Ronnie leaned back between John's bent knees. The position reminded her of how he had held her the night of her terrible illness-suffused dream.  
  
Neither of them made any attempt to move; they were in no hurry to break away from each other. Instead, they sat on the ground and stared up the dark staircase, focusing on the oval window at the top, where the Samhain moon was shining through.  
  
 **Early November**  
  
A week later, Ronnie found herself standing at the edge of a cliff, courtesy of Roger Taylor. Not one to be outdone by Brian, Roger had insisted that he be allowed to choose the next trust exercise.  
  
"This is madness," Brian said to Roger, his tone laced with disbelief. "You'll kill them both!"  
  
Freddie nodded in agreement. "Their blood will be on your hands, darling. Can't hold Sarina's hand when your own is slippery with blood now, can you?"  
  
Roger scowled at them both. "If she can trust him enough to do this, she can trust him for _anything_."  
  
Ronnie stared at the ten foot drop below her, feeling quite sick. The cliff descended in a sloping mass of soil and rock; it was, simply put, a massive landslide. At the very bottom was a thin sliver of rocky beach and beyond that, a river rushing wildly past.  
  
"Now," Roger said in a business-like fashion to Ronnie. "It's really quite easy. You just slide down the cliff and the Black Queen will catch you."  
  
John looked down at Ronnie and gave her an encouraging nod, before he crouched down, dug his heels into the debris, and slid at an alarming rate down the slope. Ronnie's hands flew to her mouth and her eyes widened, certain he was going to plunge into the river, but he grabbed a boulder at the bottom and came to a messy stop.  
  
Ronnie turned an accusing look upon Roger. "I would rather do the falling backward exercise for an entire hour."  
  
"That could be arranged," Freddie offered.  
  
Hissing through her teeth, Ronnie looked over the edge just in time to see John crouch low on the almost nonexistent beach and hold out his arms to her. The river lapped dangerously at his heels.

"Trust him, darling," Freddie said softly.  
  
"I do," Ronnie whispered, though her voice was trembling with fear.  
  
"Your mind thinks you do," Freddie pointed out. "But does your heart?"  
  
Ronnie closed her eyes, trying to get a good grasp on her composure, before she finally nodded.  
  
Brian ran his hands through his hair and turned away. "I can't watch this."  
  
Inhaling deeply, Ronnie stared down at John. He beckoned to her with his fingers and his voice climbed up the slope to meet her.  
  
 _You can always depend on me_  
  
And trying not to sob out loud with fear, Ronnie stepped off the edge and felt herself drop.  
  
It was steep, and fast, and terrifying, and Ronnie felt totally out of control, and really, it would have been so easy to just slip right by John and be claimed by the river but...  
  
...she didn't.  
  
Before she could slide past him, John caught her and pinned her tightly against his body, bracing himself against her momentum as she clung to him and stared wide eyed into the river flowing beneath her.  
  
Ronnie dropped her head onto John's shoulder, feeling a strange mixture of relief and terror. As she felt John's heart beat wildly against her own, Freddie and Roger's cheers - along with Brian's reluctant clapping - echoed in her ears.  
  
\---  
  
The first thing Sarina saw when she opened her eyes that morning were the words _infinity love_ inked on her arm, which was lying on the pillow beside her head. The corner of her mouth curled up into an involuntary smile as her heart immediately filled with gratitude - as it did each morning- until she winced and clapped a hand against her cheek.  
  
Beginning to smile had been the smallest of actions but it had caused her an immeasurable amount of pain. Lifting her head from the pillow, she experimented with opening and closing her mouth and the ache in her teeth intensified.  
  
Though her gums had been feeling slightly strange for the past few days, she hadn't thought anything of it. But now, faced with the sheer severity of her sore mouth, she lay her head back on the pillow and stayed put the rest of the morning. She only got up once, to answer a knock at the door and let a concerned Anita know she had a toothache and would likely not be down for any meals.  
  
When the pain still hadn't abated by mid-day, Sarina wracked her mind for toothache remedies but she simply didn't know any. In all her time as a healer, she hadn't ever had to deal with any dental maladies. And so, she curled up on her side, squeezed her eyes shut, and drifted in and out of fitful bursts of pain-induced sleep.  
  
Sarina was woken at dusk by a knock on the door. Rolling ungracefully out of the bed, she stumbled in a sleep dazed stupor towards the door and opened it.  
  
She had to admit that Roger was the last person she had expected to see at her door, yet there he was.   
  
"I heard you're in pain," he said without preamble as he gazed down at her, his blue eyes drawn instantly to her hand, which was holding her cheek.  
  
Sarina nodded.  
  
"Could I see?" Roger inquired politely.  
  
Sarina titled her head at him, unsure why he would want to, and seeing her confused expression, Roger held up a small bag.  
  
"I studied dentistry," he explained.  
  
Raising her eyebrows in surprise, Sarina stepped back and allowed him into the bedroom. Following his instructions, she leaned back on the bed, her head propped up with two pillows, and opened her mouth wide as Roger lit the bedside lamp.  
  
It was futile though; her pain was on the bottom right hand side of her mouth, and in her current position, Roger couldn't see a thing.  
  
Finally, he helped Sarina to a sitting position and moving the pillows aside, sat cross-legged on the bed. He then eased Sarina back down, gently cradling her head in his lap.  
  
Sarina stared up at him with wide eyes.  
  
"Relax," Roger whispered, running his thumbs down her cheeks until they were at the corners of her mouth.  
  
At his touch, Sarina felt the tension in her face melt away and that made her feel apprehensive. _No_ one should have the power to do that to her, so why did he?  
  
"Open," Roger murmured and Sarina opened her mouth wide. She felt Roger's hips shift beneath her as he pulled something from his pocket. When she heard him whisper "Automolove!" she knew he was using his magical drumstick to light his way into the dark cavern of her mouth.  
  
As Roger used his fingers to feel his way to her molars, Sarina closed her eyes and tried to spiritually work her way through her emotional discomfort. The last time she had been in a position like this, she had been five years younger and she had been head over heels in love.  
  
There had been a warm spring afternoon when she had lain in a field of daisies, her head resting in the lap of someone very special. She had stared up into green eyes that were filled with admiration, felt skillful fingers running through her hair, and a soft lips upon her cheek.  
  
One week later, he was dead.   
  
As Roger touched a particularly vulnerable part of her gums, pain rippled through the roots of her teeth and she tasted the sharp metallic tang of blood. Very softly, she moaned, though she couldn't be sure if it was due to the pain or the memory that Roger had so effortlessly unburied. Perhaps both.  
  
A tear slipped out from her closed eyelid and created a wet trail down the side of her face. Sarina felt an annoying itch as the tear dropped into the folds of her inner ear.  
  
"Sshh, sshh," Roger whispered, bending lower over her, his chest pressed against her forehead. "Almost done."  
  
That someone special's death had been the reason Sarina had never married within her band of gypsies, had never even taken a romantic partner, though she had been urged to. That someone special's death was the reason she had devoted herself to the art of healing, why she practiced gratitude every single morning.  
  
And that someone special's death was the reason she had never placed her head in anyone's lap ever again, so to be here now, with Roger's soft fingers prodding her gums in the most gentle manner...it was so intimate she almost couldn't bear it.  
  
Sarina felt something being plucked out of her gums and the pain lessened. She opened her eyes to see Roger holding a rigid toothbrush bristle between his thumb and forefinger.  
  
"Inflamed gums," he told her as he dropped the bristle into his bag. "From a faulty toothbrush. You'll need to throw it away."  
  
When Sarina was finally allowed to sit upright, Roger held out a jar of warm liquid to her. But everything was quite literally a blur thanks to the tears in her eyes and her fingers fumbled clumsily through empty air. In the end, Roger sat close behind her and, placing his hands over hers on the jar, brought it to her lips.  
  
Sarina did as Roger directed, swishing the warm saltwater around in her mouth and spitting it into an empty jar, swirls of red blood mingling with her saliva. She then allowed Roger to place a cool teabag in the back of her mouth, against the swollen gums, and she instantly put her hand back over her cheek.  
  
Roger put his hand over hers and together, they held the teabag in place. Though the pain in her mouth began to fade, the ache in her heart only grew, and she thought about how that someone special had been her infinity love.  
  
The very thought caused a tear to zigzag haphazardly down her cheek, where it landed between Roger's fingers. She squeezed her eyes shut to trap any further renegade tears and felt thankful that Roger was behind her and couldn't see the expression on her face.  
  
When Sarina felt the feather light touch of a thumb brushing her knuckles, she opened her eyes and stared straight ahead, expecting to see the stone wall of the castle, and froze.  
  
There was a mirror hanging on that wall (how could she have forgotten?) and she found herself staring into Roger's steely blue eyes.  
  
Roger had studied to be a dentist, so he knew that inflamed gums and toothaches hurt. He would also know that inflamed gums and toothaches weren't enough to make you cry as if you had lost someone near and dear to you.  
  
And so, he observed her reflection in the mirror, as if he could find a clue to her heartache within her red eyes. But the droplets on her lashes would tell him nothing and neither would she. He could continue to search for her lost composure, if it so pleased him; she knew she certainly would be looking for it all night long.  
  
But then Roger's eyes softened. The veil over them dropped away and Sarina suddenly saw that lost, haunted gaze that he had worn on the day she had met him. That look in his eyes that had drawn her to him, that had convinced her to bring him to the forest to read his palm.   
  
Yes, it's true she had sensed a disturbance in his soul and had wanted to know more. She just didn't realize at the time how perfectly his severed soul matched her own.  
  
Now, his beautiful blue eyes darkened with emotion and she realized he was allowing her to see something that he had been making an effort to hide every since that night she had read his palm.   
  
It was his way of telling her it was all right to not be all right; he wasn't all right either.  
  
The spell was broken as Roger turned to rest his cheek upon her head, but Sarina continued to stare into the mirror, watching as his hand tightened on hers.  
  
\---  
  
As time marched on, bringing the castle-dwellers closer and closer to mid-November, Ronnie marveled at her new found sense of peace, which she owed mostly thanks to the friends that were undeniably becoming her family. But an unassuming Tuesday was almost her downfall.  
  
She had been walking along the stone path in the enclosed flower garden, enjoying the crunching noise her feet made upon the gravel and wondering how the flowers had managed to stay so lovely this late into the season, when the sun's early morning light glimmered off an object up ahead.  
  
That's when she had found Valentino's ring sheltered within the darkly blushed petals of a pink rose.  
  
At first, Ronnie was still so consumed by a peaceful state of well-being that she merely stared at it, the furthest corner of her mind acknowledging it as if it were some strange curiosity that belonged to someone else.  
  
Then, she looked up at the window of the bedroom she occupied, the same window she had thrown this ring from, almost a month before.  
  
It all came back to her in a rush: two wasted years; a fiance who had only loved her as one would love a dog; the terrible empty feeling that she still harbored deep inside when she imagined Valentino with another woman.  
  
With a disappointed sigh, Ronnie plunked herself down on the low stone wall and buried her face in her hands, silently imploring the tears - which she most certainly did not need - to please stay away.  
  
When she finally lifted her head, Sarina was kneeling before her, her face sympathetic but determined.  
  
"You need to rid yourself of it," she said emphatically as she put her hands over Ronnie's. "You need to throw it in the river where you won't ever find it, where it can't ever hurt you again. And when you do that, you need to make a pact with yourself that your thoughts of _him_ , your experiences with _him_ , will stay submerged under the water with that ring for all time."  
  
Ronnie blinked away her tears and nodded. A remote part of her wondered if Sarina had once had to do the same thing.  
  
"Do you want me to ask John to go with you?" Sarina asked gently.  
  
Ronnie's fingers tightened over the ring; it had been so cold when she had plucked it out of the rose petals and now it was a burn against her skin.   
  
She nodded again.  
  
That's how she found herself at the top of a hill, alight with autumn colors, breathing in air that was sharp with frost and woodsmoke. She stared down at the riverbank below as she weighed the ring in her right hand.  
  
John touched her shoulder and as she looked up at him, his voice filled her senses.  
  
 _You know where I will be_  
  
And then he stepped back, giving her the room she needed to purge her past on her own.   
  
Not wishing to prolong the experience, Ronnie adorned an expression of fierce determination and hurried down the hill. As she stood on the riverbank, she mentally traveled down a warped river of time, silently reliving her two years with Valentino.  
  
First, she flowed pleasantly past good times (for there actually _were_ good times), before she was swept into the dangerous current of everything that had gone wrong. She dodged the memories that unexpectedly sprang out of the river of time, like giant boulders in deep water, and eventually found herself safely back on shore in the present.  
  
Ultimately, she cursed him thoroughly, before she wished him well. Perhaps one day all that free love and a goat or two would lighten a heart that was so clearly black.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Ronnie flung Valentino's ring as far as she could; it made a soft _plop_ as it landed in the water and began it's journey to the bottom of the river.  
  
And then she turned her back on it all - the river, the ring, Valentino - and stared up the hill.  
  
John was waiting patiently for her at the top, as she knew he would be. His eyes glowed a milky white in the encroaching darkness, his figure outlined in red by the setting sun, and she felt her stomach twist itself into a frightened knot at the sinister sight.  
  
But she touched his ring, reassuringly snug on her left ring finger, and reminded herself things were different; she was no longer the timid schoolteacher who had stumbled upon him in the woods, and he was not the monster she thought he would be.  
  
That very thought soothed her and as John held his hands out to her, she ran up the hill, her feet kicking up leaves in a whirl of color. When she reached the top, she embraced him and didn't let go until she was sure the ring had sunk into the sand at the river's bottom.  
  
\---  
  
It was a cold morning, the sort of morning where it would normally have been out of the question for Freddie to leave his toasty warm bed before at least quarter to ten, and yet...  
  
Here he was at dawn, strolling down a beaten path beside a meadow with Deaky and admiring the sparkling frost upon the grass, while wondering how he could incorporate such beauty into a magnificent, epic opus of a song. Preferably six minutes or longer.  
  
Freddie stopped at a faded white picket fence that separated the meadow from the leaf strewn path. Gazing out upon the field, he noted it's emptiness and knew he would have to summon his trust building exercise with a sharp whistle.  
  
Deaky leaned upon the fence, lifted his face, and exhaled through his mouth. His breath condensed into wisps of white fog in the chilly autumn air and rose to surround the dark crown of thorns on his head. A crown upon a crown, if you will.  
  
Freddie dug an old silver whistle out of his pocket, put it to his lips, and blew. From the corner of his eye, he saw Deaky wince as the shrill noise pierced what _had_ been a peacefully quiet morning, up until that moment.  
  
Right on cue, the ground beneath them rumbled almost imperceptibly, before a half a dozen white horses thundered out of the eastern woods and into the meadow.  
  
Not just any horses, mind you, because they were adorned with _eagle wings._  
  
Deaky gripped the fence and leaned forward in awe as he observed the beautiful creatures.  
  
A slow, calculating smile spread across Freddie's face. To hell with falling backwards and tumbling down cliffs! This was _his_ trust building exercise, one that was going to obliterate every trust exercise that came before it.  
  
Slinging his leg over the fence, Freddie landed gracefully on the other side and held his hand out to Deaky. "Come, darling. Your training begins."  
  
Deaky raised one arched eyebrow so high it almost disappeared into the unruly bangs that dusted his forehead.  
  
"You're going to learn to ride one of these magnificent creatures," Freddie said, as if that had been obvious.  
  
Deaky's eyes widened and, shaking his head, he stepped away from the fence.  
  
"What do you mean, no!" Freddie exclaimed. "If you want to sweep the White Queen off her feet and earn her trust once and for all, there's no better way, darling."  
  
Deaky bit his lip uncertainly as he thought about this. Freddie's expression softened as the bassist's thoughts drifted effortlessly between them and he read in his friend's mind that he would never dare to learn to ride a winged horse for himself. But for Ronnie...

Well, quite frankly, he'd do anything for her. A resolute expression settled on his face and he gave Freddie his full attention, indicating that more details were required before he even dared to _touch_ an eagle-winged horse, let alone fly on it.  
  
Freddie leaned forward conspiratorially. "The White Queen trusting you to catch her when she fell was one thing. But trusting you to fly her to the stars, well..."   
  
A satisfied smile tugged at the corners of Freddie's mouth as his eyes shone with fevered anticipation.  
  
"...that's something else entirely, darling."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your amazing support of this fic! I can't tell you how much joy it brings me to share each new chapter with you and read your thoughts.
> 
> I initially felt this chapter was very wordy, and it is much longer than the others, but I will say this - there is a LOT of foreshadowing. Every moment counts!
> 
> I think Freddie may have something up his sleeve for the next chapter - what do you think? ;)


	13. Chapter 13

**Mid to Late November**  
  
It wasn't nearly as easy as Freddie had made it look.  
  
Though John managed to climb atop the giant winged horse (whom Freddie had affectionately named Lily), the silky smoothness of the creature's back caused him to slid off the other side. Freddie dashed around the horse to assist his unfortunate friend and held out both arms, before he bravely accepted his fate; they were going down and they were going to go down hard. Just as Freddie predicted, he soon found himself sprawled upon the ground with John on top of him.   
  
Letting out a hiss of disgust, John crawled off Freddie, climbed to his feet, and put a fair amount of distance between himself and the horse.  
  
Freddie delicately brushed bits of grass and dead leaves from his arms. "Now don't you dare give me that attitude, darling! It was only your first try!"  
  
John folded his arms stubbornly; his patience had been sorely tested by the entire hour he had just dedicated to petting Lily's nose in an attempt to foster trust. Freddie had even asked, with an overabundance of glee that was quite out of proportion to the situation, if the same tactic would work on the White Queen (which had elicited an eye roll from John).  
  
Freddie leaned back on his hands and observed the bassist with a cool stare. "Were you an immediate master of steps when you first learned to walk? Did you not fall the first time?"  
  
John's shoulders deflated with a silent sigh as he grasped Freddie's meaning.  
  
"No?" Freddie asked with mock surprise, before determination crept back into his voice. "Well, how is this any different? Back on Lily you go, darling!"  
  
It took a few more tries, but eventually, John was able to stay put upon the horse. That small - yet important - step having been conquered, he moved onto riding Lily around the meadow and becoming accustomed to the way she moved beneath him.  
  
A week passed before John was even remotely prepared ready to fly, and even then, he wasn't quite so sure he was truly ready. Lily, however, gave him no choice.  
  
He had been trotting her through the grass, which was now dusted with a light snow, as the cold wind whipped his black hair from his face and numbed the long fingers that were grasping Lily's silver mane. He was trying to convince himself, quite unsuccessfully, that flying in the air would hardly be any different than this.  
  
As if Lily had sensed his thought, she stopped suddenly and pawed at the ground. And then, with a startling rippling sound, she unfurled her wings away from her body and spread them wide.   
  
John inhaled sharply as he stared at the white, feathery wings that were dusted faintly with gold. They were gigantic; one wing alone was well over six feet in length.  
  
And then, with her wings still outspread, Lily set off across the meadow at a light trot. Sensing what was coming next, John looked over his shoulder at Freddie with an accusing stare.  
  
Freddie, who had clearly not been expecting Lily to propose the date and time of the first flight, was already running towards them. "I'm coming, darling!"  
  
Reconciling himself to his fate, John leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Lily's neck, which prevented him from seeing the alarming - yet no doubt entertaining - sight of Freddie grabbing hold of the horse's tail and flinging himself over her haunches.  
  
As Lily raced across the field, Freddie managed to get himself upright. That being accomplished, he moved close to John and held onto his friend for dear life as Lily began to beat her wings. The sound reminded John very much of when his mother used to take a heavy wooden spoon to the parlor drapes to beat the dust out of them before they had company.  
  
The childhood memory vanished, as did John's sense of safety, as Lily's hooves left the wintry grass and she elevated the two musicians into the sky.  
  
John felt faintly disoriented; it was quite a remarkable transition to go from being jolted against hard ground to gliding smoothly through the air. Tentatively, he lifted his face from Lily's mane and peered between her ears, which were twitching pleasurably in the breeze.  
  
Freddie tightened his grip on the bassist's waist as he laughed into the wind. "You did it, darling!"   
  
A smile slowly spread across John's face. A _real_ smile. He _had_ done it, hadn't he?  
  
From behind him, John heard Freddie shout to a formation of geese that were passing on the right.  
  
"I can fly, my friends!"  
  
That one exhilarating ride, courtesy of Lily's wings, had given John the courage to attempt the feat many more times, until he felt confident he could keep Ronnie safe among the clouds. And when the day finally came, he could hardly contain his excitement as he lifted her over the white picket fence and led her over to where Lily was already waiting in the middle of the meadow.  
  
\---  
  
As Ronnie, wide-eyed with wonder, stared into Lily's startling green eyes, she whispered the horse's name. From behind her, she felt John put his left hand over hers, lacing their fingers together as he slowly lifted her hand to pet Lily's white nose. Lily let out a pleased _whuff_ noise. Ronnie was completely enchanted by the beautiful creature and would have been quite content to while away the afternoon stroking Lily's muzzle.  
  
But John had other plans. With a hand on Ronnie's back, he gently guided her beyond Lily's head. Realizing what he had in mind, Ronnie let out a breath of fear and backed away from the horse and directly into John, her hips melding effortlessly into his own.  
  
John's voice filled her heart, gradually changing her mind.  
  
 _It's not easy love, but you've got friends you can trust_  
  
His whisper emphasized the word _trust_ and that's when it dawned on Ronnie that she was being tested with another trust exercise.  
  
Biting her lip, she placed her hands lightly on Lily's neck and nodded her assent. Moments later, she felt John's hands on her waist, raising her onto Lily's back. She only felt even remotely safe when she felt John behind her, molding his body firmly against hers.  
  
John clicked his tongue, his knees pressing into Ronnie's as he lightly tapped Lily's ribs with his heels and his lost voice filled the crisp air.  
  
 _Spread your wings and fly away_  
  
Ronnie gasped as Lily revealed the full extent of her glittering wings and set off across the meadow at an exuberant run. John's arms surrounded her as he leaned forward to twine his fingers into Lily's mane.  
  
And then suddenly, they weren't on the ground anymore. As they ascended higher and higher into the dusky evening sky, Ronnie felt as if her own heart had sprouted wings. Fairly certain she had left her stomach somewhere in the grass below, she looked over her shoulder at the white picket fence, which was now roughly the size of her pinky finger.  
  
The view below bewildered her and made her lose her sense of self as she unintentionally leaned to the right and slowly began to slide off Lily's back. John caught her with an arm around her waist just in time and pressed her more firmly between his legs. He then hooked his ankles over hers for added protection.  
  
Ronnie had squeezed her eyes shut during this close encounter and John must have sensed as much. His voice rose above the loud sound of Lily's wings to advise her.  
  
 _Open your eyes_  
 _Look up to the skies and see_  
  
Doing as he suggested, Ronnie looked up to see faint white stars scattered across the light purple of the sky, which was illuminated by beams of radiant orange light as the sun in the distance bid them goodnight. The overwhelming beauty of it overcame her and her body convulsed with a shake that was half a laugh and half a sob. She dug her fingers into Lily's mane and found John's hands, which she squeezed with a forceful anticipation.  
  
Just as the moon was rising into the sky, they began to descend and eventually landed on higher terrain, earth that was packed hard with snow. As Lily came to a gentle stop by trotting in a graceful circle, Ronnie's gaze fell upon a frozen white rainbow, shimmering vibrantly against the backdrop of a snow-peaked mountain range.  
  
A slight tinge of regret broke through Ronnie's euphoric happiness because visiting the Frozen White Rainbow had been one of the tasks to complete on her coming of age journey. A journey she would never complete now, thanks to...  
  
She shook her head. She wouldn't think of him. Her thoughts of _him_ were at the bottom of the river, along with his ring.   
  
The Frozen White Rainbow began on one end of the mountainside, gracefully arching so high into that sky that it disappeared into the clouds, before it returned to earth on the opposite side of the mountain. It was entirely made of ice, glistening with a white frost, yet there were crystalline colors that sparkled here and there on the surface - reds, oranges, and yellows that mingled amiably with greens, blues, purples.  
  
It was, quite simply, the most magnificent thing Ronnie had ever seen. That is, until the moon found it's place high in the sky and filtered it's white light through the rainbow, giving the impression that the frost was melting off the formerly white structure. This impressive trick of nature revealed the vibrant colors of the rainbow beneath, turning the arch into a transparent wonder. Ronnie could now see right through the rainbow to the other side of the mountain. 

She slowly wandered forward, and placed one hand on the rainbow, which was pleasantly cool. Glancing up at the sky and using the rainbow as a lens, she saw the moon doused in a startling mix of reds, purples, and blues.  
  
Mesmerized, Ronnie found herself quoting the task from her coming of age journey list.  
  
"Touch the Frozen White Rainbow and know it's all right to still feel a childlike wonder for things of great beauty..."  
  
She turned to look at John, to see what his impression was of this incredible place, and saw the Frozen Rainbow reflected in eyes that were no longer white, but all sorts of colors.  
  
But that's not what struck her the most about his expression. He was standing at a distance, his arms folded, as he watched her with a look that bordered on wistfulness. He swallowed painfully and nodded.  
  
Ronnie felt her heart burn with a white hot flame as she grasped his meaning. He wasn't even looking at the rainbow; he was looking at her face, into her eyes. And the look he was casting towards her, the manner in which his fingers were digging into his arms, the way he was biting his lower lip...all those things told her that he wasn't agreeing with the beauty of the rainbow, but indicating that he found _her_ to be the beautiful one.  
  
No one had ever found her beautiful before. Except maybe her parents, which certainly did not count.  
  
John's eyes never left hers as he came forward and placed his hand over hers on the rainbow.  
  
Ronnie shivered, knowing perfectly well that it wasn't the snow crusted mountain _or_ the air that was rife with winter's chill that made her do so.  
  
\---  
  
John and Ronnie had arrived at the mountain in the dying light of day, and they now prepared to leave it under cover of darkness. Seated firmly on Lily's back, they wrapped themselves tightly in their cloaks to ward off the cool breeze and with a click of John's tongue, they were once more sailing through the sky.  
  
Safe in John's arms, Ronnie dared to look below and was rewarded with the sight of hundreds of lights glinting in the dark. Every tiny hamlet, each village, all the towns, and great big cities - they all glowed brightly at this time of night. And most glorious of all was the fact that for the first time in Ronnie's entire life, the moon was bigger than she was. There it was to her right, round and white and cratered with gray crevices; she stretched her fingers towards it, as if she could touch it if she tried hard enough.  
  
They were eventually obliged to return to solid ground, where they bid Lily a fond farewell. After John had helped Ronnie over the fence, they walked down the beaten path, Ronnie's hands tucked into her armpits and John's hands shoved into his pockets. A sudden shyness that was almost thicker than the darkness had enveloped them both.  
  
When they returned to the castle, it was late enough that everyone was already in bed, even Roger. Side by side, they walked up the grand staircase and to Ronnie's bedroom door, where the shyness evaporated as she threw her arms around John and thanked him at least twenty-five times for the once in a lifetime experience he had just given to her.  
  
She then watched from her doorway as John, bright red but clearly pleased, climbed the stairs to the turret bedroom. When he was gone, she gently closed the door, rummaged through her traveling bag, and found her coming of age task list.  
  
Dipping a quill into the ink stand she kept on her bedside table, Ronnie checked off _Touch the Frozen White Rainbow_ , before her eyes skimmed the entire piece of parchment. She had accomplished quite a bit on the list, much more than she had initially thought.  
  
A forgotten task towards the bottom caught her eye and Ronnie's quill hovered over the sentence as she thought of John.  
  
Though their friends were certainly helping with rather exciting and slightly terrifying trust exercises, they had been steadily building trust on their own for the past month and a half, as well. That trust was growing through the long walks they took together in the woods; in the pleasant evenings spent on her bed, where she would ask John questions and he would write his answers on parchment; in the way he never failed to wish her good morning or bid her goodnight.  
  
 _Was it possible?_ Ronnie thought to herself. Had she...?  
  
Her stomach churned dangerously as she put a dark black check mark next to the task that invited her to _fall in love with something.  
_  
 **Early December**  
  
Events at the castle took a strange turn the moment the first heavy snowfall arrived. To be more exact, that's when the vomiting began.  
  
They had all been enjoying breakfast together one morning when Ronnie felt the nausea overcome her. She had excused her and walked calmly to the door, shutting it against the tranquil domesticity unfolding in the dining room. And then she had taken off at a desperate run for the bathroom, falling to her knees before the toilet just in time.  
  
With her insides still churning like butter, Ronnie had made herself presentable and returned to the dining room, but when she opened the door this time, the serene scene of a makeshift family dining together was gone.  
  
The unmistakable scent of something burning wafted towards Ronnie as she observed that everyone was on their feet. Roger's face was a bright red as he pinned John against the far wall; the bassist was baring his sharp teeth.  
  
"What happened?" Ronnie whispered uneasily to Brian, who was shaking his head in disbelief.  
  
Brian murmured out of the corner of his mouth, "Freddie was updating us all on the progress of your trust in Deaky, and Roger made a snide comment, and John used magic to light Roger's napkin on fire..."  
  
Sarina managed to pry Roger away from John with a very impressive show of strength. Turning Roger to face her, she softly exclaimed, "Roger, what is _wrong?"_

Ronnie watched with wide eyes, her vomiting episode quite forgotten, as Roger's own eyes darkened.  
  
\---

It had not been Roger's intention to provoke the Black Queen's ire, at least, not on that day.

But as he had sat across the dining room table from Sarina, who was refusing to make eye contact with him, he had sunk deeper into despair, allowing the comment to fly from his mouth, quite unfiltered.  
  
"Want to know what burns trust to the ground the fastest? A _misfire."_  
  
"Misfire?" Anita had asked curiously, as Roger felt Freddie's delicate fingers pinch him in the arse in warning just as Brian covered his eyes with his hand. But at least Sarina had finally looked up from her plate.

The band was saved from having to explain Roger's cryptic remark by the flaming of Roger's napkin. Roger leapt out of his chair and looked up from the small blaze just in time to see the Black Queen's eyes fading from red to white.  
  
That being the last fucking flamable straw as far as he was concerned, Roger had hauled the Black Queen out of his chair and pushed him roughly against the wall. A few pieces of the ugliest china he had ever beheld chose this opportunity to fall off a sideboard and shatter on the floor.  
  
And Sarina had chosen this moment to finally ask him what was _wrong._  
  
"He set fire to my napkin!" Roger exclaimed, as if it were obvious.  
  
"Roger, this is goes so much deeper than your napkin!" Sarina said very quietly, though her expression was uncharacteristically fierce.   
  
Roger recoiled from her.  
  
"What has he done to you!" Sarina asked in a soft voice that positively unnerved him.  
  
Feeling his chest rising and falling in a most dramatic fashion, Roger jabbed a finger in the Black Queen's direction and said defensively, "There _was_ a time when I had loved him!"  
  
A soft sizzling noise filled the silence as Freddie doused the flaming napkin with a pitcher of water. Roger was uncomfortably aware of every single eye on him but there was really no point in stopping now.  
  
"I fought on _his_ side!" Roger continued hotly, his eyes never leaving Sarina's. "I composed music with him, I worked and slept beside him...hell, once I even flicked away a tear for him! I loved him like a _brother_ and do you want to know what he did to me? He shot me! He literally shot me right in the fucking heart!"  
  
Without waiting for a reaction from _anyone,_ Roger stormed from the room and thought to himself, _There. Let her make of that what she will._  
  
He took his storm cloud energy all the way to the library, because he figured it would be the last place anyone would look for him. You were more likely to find Roger Taylor in any other room of the castle, but not the one that was crammed with books. And then he collapsed into a chair and proceeded to get very angry with himself.  
  
Because he was such a _fool._ He had honestly thought he had made a special connection with Sarina the night he had rescued her from the spiky toothbrush bristle in her gums. She was sad, he was sad, they had held hands. He had figured they had built an _unbreakable bond_ in their shared moment of despair. In other words, he was turning into Brian.  
  
Breakable bond, his arse! Roger wasn't a man of the stars like Brian and he wasn't a troubadour like Freddie, but he did have a _heart._ And though it was tinged gray with paranoia, he had thought that night would have brought them closer together, not torn them further apart.  
  
And yet, Sarina had begun to distance herself from him. She was always polite, as she was to everyone, but she had stopped smiling at him and she avoided his eyes.  
  
Yet she dared to actually look him in the eye only to defend the Black Queen's honor!   
  
Maybe one day Roger would work up the courage to ask her what he had said or done wrong, but that day was not today. And he had considered asking Brian for his advice, but that ship had sunk as soon as it appeared and besides, he didn't need a lecture on love.  
  
Love apparently did not suit him, Roger thought glumly as he spotted the grotesque spellbook on the table and pulled it closer. Apparently all he was really good for was a good time. Perhaps he should stick with lust. At least he was an expert in _something.  
  
_ Hoping to squash the agonizing thoughts that were setting a fire of rebellion somewhere in his soul, Roger wrenched the book open to the bookmarked page - the Pregnancy Spell. Sulking, he stared at the Illness Cure Spell on the opposite page and flipped it back to see what was on the other side. He froze when he saw the title of the spell at the top.  
  
 ** _Love Spell_**  
  
Roger looked to the right, then to the left, over his shoulder, under the table, but he was quite alone. Looking back at the page, he skimmed it with hungry eyes, hope sending off fireworks in his chest as he realized there was a way, after all. He didn't have magic, but he _did_ have a magical drumstick. Two, in fact.  
  
Making up his mind rather quickly, Roger ripped the page that contained the Love Spell from the book. He folded it, shoved it into his pocket, and tossed the spellbook onto the nearest settee.  
  
\---  
  
"However did you get over here, darling?" Freddie murmured to the spellbook as he picked it up off the settee that evening. Making himself comfortable in a neighboring armchair, he began to idly flip through the book as Deaky searched the shelves for an engineering book he had encountered when he had first obtained the castle a few years before.  
  
The last few dozen pages of the spellbook proved to be very interesting indeed, because they were _rules._ Rules that applied to naturally born wizards, rules that applied to wizarding apprentices, and...  
  
...rules that applied to mortals who had been cursed with magic.  
  
Sitting up straighter, Freddie ran a finger down the page as he read the apparent rules that applied to his friend. They were, for the most part, nothing out of the ordinary, except for one...  
  
 _Mortals who have been cursed with magic MUST abstain from consuming alcohol. Cursed magic is of a different quality than natural magic and is known to be quite unpredictable. The consumption of alcohol can provoke an explosive reaction.  
_  
The book then listed the side effects in order from minor to catastrophic.  
  
 _Abdominal pains, nausea and vomiting, irritability, malformed appearance, extreme personality changes, monstrous transformations._  
  
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Freddie murmured as he chanced a glance towards Deaky, almost expecting to see a hairy monster of an individual with gnashing jaws and evil eyes, irritably ripping pages out of books.  
  
But he only saw the same lovely bassist he had always known, his face alight with the sweetest of smiles as Ronnie plucked a book from the shelf and handed it to him.  
  
Ronnie happened to look over at Freddie then, and seeing the stricken look on his face, she hurried over, leaving Deaky to unlock the secrets of engineering on his own.  
  
"What?" Ronnie whispered.  
  
Freddie grasped the White Queen's hand and sat her down on the nearest settee.   
  
"Darling, I need to tell you something," he said in a hushed voice, occasionally shooting a look of distrust at the innocently unaware bassist in the corner. "And I'm telling you this because you spend more time with Deaky than the rest of us."  
  
Ronnie's eyes widened, alarm circling her irises, but she nodded.  
  
"Under absolutely no circumstances is he to consume alcohol," Freddie continued, his voice dramatically low. "If you ever see him with an alcoholic beverage in his hand, you must take it away from him immediately."  
  
Freddie's fingers were still gripping Ronnie's with a ferocious anxiety. She put her free hand over his. "But Freddie, this isn't new knowledge, is it? You told me at the River of Wine So Clear that alcohol wasn't his forte."  
  
Freddie leaned closer. "Well, yes, but that was before. Alcohol has never settled well with Deaky; at the very least, he has a good time and becomes a tad forgetful, a smidgen unbalanced. At the very worst, he has used it to drown his woes - never a good thing, you understand - but look here, darling, I just found this..."  
  
He handed the book reverently over to Ronnie, who balanced it in her lap and read the passage that Freddie pointed to. He watched as she scanned the words, before her eyes went still as she stared at the page and envisioned all the horrible things that could happen if Deaky ever so much as took a social sip.  
  
She then lifted her head and looked at Deaky, who had settled himself comfortably upon the floor, completely engrossed in the tome about engineering.   
  
Freddie grimaced. The poor thing, he was probably drowning in a constant stream of boring knowledge. No doubt, they would likely have to go rescue him soon.  
  
"Should we tell him?" Ronnie finally asked.  
  
Freddie frowned. He figured Deaky already considered himself something of a monster; he'd hate to reinforce that notion if he didn't have to.   
  
"Not right away. He hasn't touched alcohol in a very long time and now that he has you, I doubt he will. We'll just keep an eye on him and if we have to tell him, then so be it."  
  
Ronnie nodded slowly, though an expression of doubt lingered on her face as she slowly snapped the spellbook shut.  
  
 **Mid-December**  
  
Freddie found Deaky crouching in the garden at dusk.  
  
As the setting sun sunk the flower beds into deep shadow, he frowned, wondering how the beautiful pink and yellow roses could possibly still be fully in bloom at this time of year. They were covered in a gentle frost but still vibrant, and still very much alive, as they poked out from white mounds of snow.  
  
Then again, perhaps it was magic. He wouldn't be surprised, considering one of his best friends was bursting with it.  
  
Deaky, however, wasn't looking quite so enchanting this early evening. In fact, he was positively glum, and the uprooted roses that surrounded him in the snow were black as a moonless night.  
  
Freddie's expression softened at the bassist's evident despair. "It's been no bed of roses, has it darling?"  
  
Deaky shook his head.  
  
Freddie plucked a yellow rose from the snow; it came free from it's home in the ground with a soft and satisfying _ping._ "Wherever did you get the black roses?"  
  
He winced as Deaky's disheartened thoughts flew at him, as persistent as a swarm of bees, and told him every black rose on the ground had once been pink or yellow. He had been trying to select the perfect rose for Ronnie, but his very touch had darkened them all.  
  
"I don't believe that for a moment," Freddie said obstinately. "It's quite obvious that once a rose is removed from the ground, the cold air turns it black."  
  
Which didn't explain, of course, why the rose Freddie was holding had remained yellow.  
  
Freddie allowed Deaky to take the rose from him; as soon as the bassist's fingertips touched the stem, the yellow rose petals darkened, transforming into a dark shade of nutmeg. Eventually, the petals succumbed entirely, black as ink.  
  
Deaky frowned at the rose, before he tossed it on the ground with the others and lowered his eyes.  
  
Freddie's heart ached dreadfully at the sight, but he still made a concerted effort to make the situation better. As the sound of footsteps crunched in the snow towards them, he admitted, "Black roses are really very elegant, darling. And just as thoughtful."  
  
"Yeah, if you want to tell Ronnie she reminds you of death," Roger grumbled as he walked past, the hood of his cloak hiding his face.  
  
"Oh, don't be such a sour cherry, Roger," Freddie admonished him. "I'm sure Sarina only likes ripe cherries."  
  
"Yes," Brian said from a few feet away, where he had appeared from an evening stroll in the woods with Brighton. "Emotionally mature cherries."  
  
Roger spun around so fast his hood fell back, revealing a tangle of wild blonde hair and blue eyes that were equally untamed He shook his fist at them all. "I'll show you an emotionally ripe cherry!"  
  
Freddie sighed as Roger stalked off through the snow.  
  
"Are the roses for a special occasion, John?" Brian asked with interest, as Brighton chose a particularly lovely pink rose to nibble.  
  
That thought hadn't even occurred to Freddie; he gasped with anticipation. "Are you going to ask the White Queen if you can court her?"  
  
Deaky shook his head.  
  
"And whyever not?" Freddie demanded.  
  
Deaky sat heavily on the small wall of rocks that lined the flower garden and stared at the black roses, such a vivid contrast against the subdued whiteness of the snow. His thoughts told Freddie plainly that he was finding it very difficult to ask the White Queen to be his, thanks to his ever present self-doubt.   
  
Apparently, Deaky wanted very badly to smile for her, and apparently she had even encouraged him to do so, but Deaky didn't consider fangs to be particularly romantic.  
  
"Unless you're into those kinky vampire books they banned from all the libraries," Freddie observed.  
  
Brian, unable to hear Deaky's thoughts and therefore, not privy to what appeared to be a very interesting conversation, blinked and turned to Brighton to ask him if he was finding his fragrant dinner particularly tasty.  
  
Deaky's thoughts continued at an alarming rate, revealing to Freddie that every time he looked into her eyes, he was always inevitably reminded that there was nothing in his own...just a vast white space. And how he always felt wary by her side, lest his magic spiral out of control and he unintentionally harm her. How sometimes he just felt like...a monster.  
  
Freddie felt his heart rock unstably on waves of sympathy as he remembered the spellbook and it's sharp warnings about alcohol consumption. Ordinarily, Freddie enjoyed being correct in his theories, yet he found no satisfaction in accurately predicting that his friend felt like this.  
  
"Darling, if every monster had a heart like yours, they'd be angels," Freddie said softly.  
  
Brian smiled his agreement as Deaky looked up in surprise.  
  
"Fallen angels, but angels nonetheless," Freddie added, as he gathered up the scattered black roses and placed them in Deaky's hands.  
  
\---  
  
It was two hours short of midnight.  
  
John's fingers were shaking as he tied a silver ribbon around the stems of ten black roses. His heart was practically beating out of his chest as he sat on the bottom step of the staircase that led to his bedroom and waited for Ronnie to emerge from Sarina's room.  
  
When she finally did, her eyes was alive with laughter and her cheeks were flushed with happiness. Upon seeing him, her face lit up with a smile and John's legs felt weak as stood and gripped the banister, which was actually carved to resemble the face of a lion.  
  
As he waited for her to come to him, he hid the roses behind his back and his mind sorted fitfully through years of romantic song lyrics, trying to find the best one to ask her to be his. But as she stood in front of him, he couldn't think of any. All the song lyrics he had ever known disappeared; a causality of his own mind.  
  
Instead, he forced the corners of his mouth to rise into a small smile and presented her with the bouquet of black roses that had caused him over an hour of frustration in the snow encrusted garden.  
  
John almost looked away, afraid the black roses would be too much of a haunting anomaly; that they'd repulse her. And so he was pleasantly surprised when Ronnie took them from him with a look of joyful surprise.  
  
"John," she whispered as she traced her forefinger along one of the soft, dark petals. "They're beautiful."  
  
And when she wrapped her arms around his waist, rested her head against his chest, and thanked him, he pressed his cheek against the top of her head, his breath of relief gently stirring her hair.  
  
\---  
  
Ronnie crouched low in the snow, her fingers tingling as she crafted a snowball between her hands. She didn't have much time.  
  
Looking over her shoulder, she saw Delilah on her back, attempting to make snow angels in the freshly fallen snow. John was watching the blissfully happy tiger; though his back was turned, Ronnie knew he was amused.  
  
Putting the finish touches on her snowball - which was enormous - Ronnie rose out of the snow drift and threw it at John's back.  
  
It him squarely between the shoulder blades and he turned in surprise.  
  
Ronnie tried to keep her expression serious, her teeth firmly pressed into her lower lip, but a snort of laughter escaped her. She clapped a hand over her mouth.  
  
Understanding dawned in John's eyes, which were just as blindingly white as the snow, and his mouth curled into a mischievous smile before he charged at her.  
  
Ronnie's mouth dropped in surprise; she had been expecting him to hurl a snowball back at her, not hunt her down! She turned and made a desperate attempt to escape through the knee-deep snow drifts.  
  
It was a noble attempt, if she did say so herself, but she never stood a chance against him. He caught her from behind before he promptly tripped, sending them rolling down the snow-swept swell of a hill.  
  
Though the snow they were tumbling through was cold, Ronnie's heart warmed to a toasty glow when she realized John was holding her tightly against his body to spare her the brunt of the fall. When they came to a stop at the bottom of the hill, she collapsed gracefully onto his chest, before he took his revenge.  
  
John swiftly rotated, dropping Ronnie into the snow as he straddled her and pinned her wrists above her head in victory. He frowned down at her, his white eyes piercing her own.  
  
Though she tried to adorn a look of outraged dignity, it was absolutely no use. She lost the intense stare down and found herself the helpless victim of an eruption of giggles.  
  
The corner of John's mouth twitched once, twice, _three_ times, before his face broke into a smile that exposed every sharp tooth and he laughed along with her.  
  
It had been her intent to make him smile, but to see him laugh...that was truly a blessing.  
  
As their laughed subsided, Ronnie beamed up at him, admiring the slight gap between his two front teeth, the way his eyes were creased with amusement, and the long, wild waves that framed his face, lending him the appearance of forbidden beauty.  
  
John's smile disappeared as his fingers tightened on her wrists and he leaned closer to her. His brow furrowed as he opened his mouth, as if he desperately wanted to tell her something. Ronnie found she was holding her breath, waiting as she was held suspended in this beautiful moment and wondering what it would transform into.  
  
But then John merely swallowed and offered her a very small smile, before he climbed off her and extended his hand. Feeling slightly confused (and very dizzy), Ronnie grasped his fingers and allowed him to haul her to her feet. He escorted her up the hill, past Delilah the queen of the snow angels, and towards the castle.  
  
Ronnie was not ready to return indoors and so she squeezed John's hand and disappeared around the corner, intending to visit Sarina's horse in the stable. The moment she was out of sight, she pressed her back against the cold castle wall, closed her eyes, and listened to the ancient creak of the side door as John opened it.  
  
What was it John had wanted to say? And furthermore, what had she been expecting him to do?  
  
Ronnie decided she could speculate as to the answers of those questions for hours upon hours and still never know the truth. Putting them aside for later scrutiny, she wandered across the courtyard, trying to ignore the fluttering in her heart that resembled a hundred tiny butterflies.  
  
\---  
  
John grasped the cold ringed handle of the side door and shoved it open with his shoulder. Expecting to be greeted with an empty corridor, he recoiled in surprise when he saw Freddie's curious face.  
  
"Well?"  
  
John brushed past him into the warmth of the castle and raised his eyebrows as if to say, _Well what?_  
  
"Did you ask her to be your leading lady?" Freddie asked impatiently. "That was a prime opportunity out there! There's something terribly romantic about the snow."  
  
John shook his head, thrusting to the front of his mind thoughts that suggested he wasn't sure how to go about asking her. In reality, he was desperately trying to hide his true thoughts from Freddie, thoughts that would reveal how afraid he was.  
  
"Oh, darling, there are plenty of song lyrics out there to assist you with telling her how you feel!"  
  
John crossed his arms, leaned against the stone wall, and waited.  
  
"You could profess _I was born to love you, with every single beat of my heart,_ " Freddie suggested eagerly. "Or, you could avow _I want you to know that my feelings are true, I really love you..."  
_  
"Or... _with my hand on your grease gun...mmm, it's like a disease son."_  
  
Fredide and John turned to see Roger at the far side of the corridor, his arms folded in a most irritated fashion.  
  
"My God, you're a regular troll under the bridge, aren't you?" Freddie exclaimed. "Tell me, would you say as much to Sarina?"  
  
Roger's face darkened at the very mention of the gypsy and he vanished around the corner. With a heavy heart, John began the short walk down the passageway, which would lead them to a small door that was situated beneath the grand staircase of the main entryway.  
  
Freddie followed. "You could always write her a letter, dear."  
  
Wishing more than anything to change the subject, John's thoughts told Freddie he intended to wait to ask Ronnie for her courtship when he had the ability to ask her with his own voice.  
  
"But that won't be until she breaks the curse," Freddie pointed out.  
  
John nodded to indicate that he knew that.  
  
Freddie sighed as John opened the door to the entryway and they both bent low to pass through the small doorway.  
  
"Are you sure you're not avoiding the subject because you feel guilty about almost impregnating her with your magic?" Freddie asked.  
  
Alarmed, John looked around wildly to make sure Freddie's uninhibited observation hadn't been overheard.   
  
Thankfully, the entryway was empty. John turned a look of thunder upon his friend.

"Darling, drop it," Freddie insisted. "Your guilt is entirely unfounded. We've been guardian angeling her for a month and a half and she's shown no indication whatsoever of baking your bun in her oven."  
  
John's cheeks burned red as he winced at Freddie's colorful description.  
  
Freddie nodded towards the kitchen, where they could hear Roger clanking pots and pans around. "Raging Roger is showing more signs of pregnancy than our dear Ronnie is."  
  
John shook his head, his frown revealing that he was still harboring guilt deep in his heart.  
  
Freddie tapped the elegantly tiled floor with his toe, before he sighed.   
  
"Very well, darling. If you must tell her, then by all means, free your conscience. But if you do take that road, you must promise me one thing."  
  
John leaned his shoulder against the wall and waited for Freddie's recommendation.  
  
 _"Wait_. Wait until you can tell her with your own voice, with actual words instead of song lyrics. Believe me, it will be easier that way, darling."


	14. Chapter 14

**Christmas Eve**  
  
There was no conceivable reason why the shadow at the end of the hallway should have been offering Anita a Christmas present, yet there it was.  
  
Smoothing down the cherry red knee-length dress she had found in the closet of the guestroom she was staying in, Anita fought a brief internal war with herself that alternated between curiosity and apprehension. Curiosity eventually won and she slowly made her way down the hallway, her black heels echoing off the stone floor.  
  
The black shadow let out a grunt of approval. "It's about time, darling. Do Christmas gifts always plant such an unreasonable feeling of unease in you?"  
  
Upon recognizing Freddie's voice, Anita felt her heart flutter with relief. "Do you always present your friends with gifts while cryptically hiding in corners?"  
  
"Touche, my dear," Freddie acknowledged as he finally stepped into the light, revealing his festive outfit for the evening: bright, tight red leather pants and a creamy white shirt, the first three buttons undone to reveal a soft patch of dark chest hair. The cuffs were adorned with enthusiastic ruffles.  
  
Anita couldn't help but smile as she accepted the gift and ran her fingertip over the silky smooth white ribbon that had been tied with great care and obviously chosen to compliment the green wrapping paper.  
  
It was almost a shame to rip apart the simple beauty of the present but even so, she slipped her finger under the corner fold of the paper to open Freddie's gift.  
  
Her mouth fell open in surprise as the paper and the ribbon fell to the floor, forgotten. Freddie's lips lifted into a pleased smile.  
  
For in Anita's hands was the long sought after _Guide to Prostitution._ She looked up at Freddie, her eyes bursting with questions that she couldn't find the words to articulate.  
  
Freddie inspected his knuckles casually. "Well, you've been so enamored with Brian for the past two months that you forgot all about the damn book and quite frankly, holding it hostage isn't fun anymore, darling."   
  
Anita laughed at that. It was true; the closer she became to Brian, the less _Guide to Prostitution_ seemed to matter.  
  
"But you must promise me that you'll only use it for a bit of light bedtime reading," Freddie said sternly, looking up at her from under dark eyebrows that were arched meaningfully.  
  
"I promise," Anita said sincerely.  
  
"And if you're ever in trouble, you'll turn to myself or Brian," Freddie added. "We're better listeners that that infernal book, you know."  
  
Anita promised that, too, before she threw her arms around Freddie and thanked him.  
  
\---  
  
"Sarina, what's happening to me?" Ronnie moaned as she propped her forearm on the toilet seat, dropped her head into the crook of her elbow, and batted the air blindly with her other hand, looking for the flush cord.  
  
Sarina, offering a helping hand, pulled the cord and the remains of Ronnie's Christmas Eve dinner vanished into the deep, dark bowels of the castle's plumbing system. "How long have you been vomiting for?"  
  
Ronnie sat up and sniffed, her cheeks flushed from her most recent retching episode. "Almost a month."  
  
"A month!" Sarina exclaimed softly as she helped Ronnie to her feet and handed her a toothbrush. "Why didn't you tell us?"  
  
Ronnie shoved the toothbrush in her mouth and shrugged. "I feewl fine udderwise."  
  
 _She feels fine otherwise,_ Sarina translated to herself and sighed.  
  
Ronnie spit into the sink. "Just really tired, that's all."  
  
As Sarina gently ushered Ronnie back to her room, she consulted her encyclopedic knowledge of physical ailments. It was doubtful that Ronnie was experiencing any residual effects from the Great Sickness; no, John's magic would have wiped any trace of the Sickness out of her system.  
  
Sarina continued her assessment of Ronnie's month-long vomiting escapade as she waited for the younger woman to finish getting ready. It was unlikely to be the flu or the common cold because Ronnie had no other symptoms. It's possible it was gastrointestinal in nature, but Ronnie looked perfectly healthy otherwise; she wasn't pale or sweaty or...  
  
Sarina's eyes widened as Ronnie dropped her pants and reached for the velvet green dress they had found in the closet of Anita's room.  
  
For there at the center of Ronnie's abdomen, directly beneath her belly button, was the gentlest of swells.  
  
Startled, Sarina suddenly felt she knew exactly what was ailing Ronnie and she opened her mouth to ask about it, before she realized she really could do no such thing. Because if Sarina's suspicions were true and Ronnie was indeed pregnant, it was clear Ronnie didn't know. And it would be quite forward of her to ask such a question and imply that Ronnie and John had taken their relationship _that_ far. As it were, Sarina wasn't even certain they had exchanged their first kiss.  
  
Biting her lip and clasping her hands together, Sarina decided all she could do for the time being was watch her friend closely and wait for her to broach the concern first.  
  
As if the universe were agreeing with Sarina's decision, Ronnie slipped the dress over her hips and the swell disappeared, as if it had never been there at all.  
  
\---  
  
Gazing at her reflection in the mirror, Ronnie ran her hands down the front of the dress and frowned. She had gained a bit of weight around the middle ever since arriving at the castle, but she supposed that was to be expected. She had been less active, having nowhere to go and therefore no reason to walk miles a day anymore, and in her current state of happiness, she had been eating better...  
  
But the dress showed no indication of that weight gain whatsoever. No, the only thing the lovely long-sleeved green dress revealed were Ronnie's bare shoulders and her shins.  
  
Feeling much better, Ronnie turned and froze when she saw the look on Sarina's face.  
  
"What's the matter?" she whispered.  
  
Sarina swiftly replaced her concerned expression with one of intense admiration. "Nothing. You look beautiful, love!"  
  
Ronnie folded her arms suspiciously.  
  
"I was just deep in thought, that's all," Sarina insisted as she slid off the bed and adjusted the folds of her dark blue dress.  
  
Ronnie cocked her head politely. "Oh?"  
  
"Oh," Sarina agreed affirmatively. "I was thinking what a lovely idea tonight was."  
  
Ronnie's misgivings melted away and she smiled. Christmas Eve wasn't the only reason they were adorning their finest and preparing for a celebration.   
  
Approximately a week before, Anita had submitted her own trust-exercise for consideration, asking what could possibly generate more trust than dancing closely with someone you cared deeply about?  
  
Freddie, never one to let a perfectly good reason to have a party slip away, had declared that a Christmas Eve Trustivity was in order.  
  
"You mean a Christmas Eve Festivity," Roger had corrected him bluntly.  
  
"No, darling," Freddie said, with an enthusiasm that bordered on aggression. "Festivities produce merriment. Trustivities produce trust."  
  
"Obviously, Roger," Brian had added with a twinkle in his eye, and Roger's nostrils had flared.  
  
Ronnie's upper lip curled in amusement at the memory as she spun back towards the mirror, but something out of the corner of her eye made her stop mid-turn.  
  
She could have sworn she had seen movement but there was only John's black bass guitar, propped up in the corner where it had remained, untouched, for the past two and a half months. Lost in thought, Ronnie curled a wayward lock of hair around her forefinger and imagined John's long fingers upon the strings.  
  
"I have a trust exercise to suggest, if I may."  
  
Ronnie looked over her shoulder at Sarina with interest.  
  
"Nothing says I trust you quite like a kiss," Sarina smiled as she pulled open the door.  
  
"What a damn jolly good idea!" Freddie's voice exclaimed from the hallway.  
  
Ronnie blushed, careful not to commit to anything and instead assuring her friends she would meet them downstairs.  
  
Left alone, Ronnie tiptoed over to the bass guitar in the corner and crouched beside it. Very gently, she ran her finger down the neck, the rough strings making her fingertips tingle as she wondered if she dared take Sarina's suggestion.  
  
\---  
  
The ancient polished wood was smooth beneath Ronnie's fingers as she trailed her hand down the banister and observed the joyful scene below.  
  
The center of the entryway boasted a fifteen foot tall Christmas tree, topped with a star of gold and decorated with garland, tinsel, and large ornaments of white, red, and green. The lamplight in the paneled hallway had been turned down very low in order to showcase the beautiful lights that entwined each branch and glowed an angelic white.  
  
Delilah, lounging beneath the tree, was wearing tiny silver bells that tinkled merrily as she rolled onto her back and blinked up at Anita, who was spinning in a circle for Brian, her dress swirling in a flash of red. Brian, his face alight with a smile of pure joy, was oblivious to Brighton; the badger had given up trying to nibble off his tiny festive plaid bow and had turned his attention to Delilah's swishing tail instead.  
  
On the other side of the tree, Freddie was wiggling his fingers at John as he showed off his newly painted black fingernails. "For you, darling. Happy Christmas."  
  
John glanced at his own unavoidably black nails and smiled at Freddie's gesture, before he sensed Ronnie's presence and turned towards the staircase.  
  
His smile slowly vanished as his chest rose, almost as if his breath had gotten caught somewhere in his throat and he couldn't quite force any air into his lungs. He swallowed hard as Freddie encouragingly pushed him forward.  
  
Ronnie stopped three quarters of the way down the stairs, her fingers tightening on the banister as she noticed an assortment of new, endearing details about John.  
Like how fluffy his hair was as it gently swept his shoulders, clearly having been brushed no less than ten times. And how, for the first time ever, he wasn't wearing black, having carefully tucked a crisp white button-down shirt into gray suit pants. And how a look of admiration was slowly replacing the anxiety that had previously darkened his features.  
  
Ronnie, unable to take her eyes off him, lifted her foot to descend to the next step, missed that step completely, and felt herself falling.  
  
Luckily, Roger had chosen the alcove beside the staircase as his sulking headquarters and was nearby at the time of this incident. He stepped forward immediately and Ronnie fell neatly into his arms.  
  
"Careful," Roger whispered, before he set her gently back on her feet and nodded irritably towards Brian. "I _told_ him it was too dark in here."  
  
"As if that had anything to do with her fall," Freddie murmured to himself as he casually passed by and ruffled Roger's blonde locks.  
  
Ronnie felt her cheeks turn pink as she thanked Roger (who was irritably fixing his hair), but any embarrassment regarding her love-induced fall evaporated when she noticed how glassy his eyes were.  
  
Somehow, she knew this went beyond moping. He was sincerely hurt.  
  
Wishing to offer her friend a bit of Christmas cheer, Ronnie leaned forward and whispered, "I still owe you a good word with Sarina, don't I?"  
  
Roger raised his eyebrows and looked over at the gypsy, who was slowly circling the tree, lost in her own thoughts as she sipped a glass of wine.  
  
Ronnie turned away and congratulated herself because although Roger hadn't smiled, at least his eyes now were burning with a newly acquired hope.  
  
\---  
  
And that was how an evening that was supposed to have been dedicated to furthering the trust between Ronnie and John became an evening dedicated to reconciling Sarina and Roger. At least, in Ronnie's eyes.  
  
She entered the parlor to the sound of Freddie tinkering with the piano, stepped over Sarina's discarded heels, and crouched beside the overstuffed armchair.   
  
Sarina turned with a slight smile. "Shouldn't you be dancing the night away in a certain someone's arms?"  
  
"Perhaps, but first I need to ask you a personal favor."  
  
Sarina considered this unexpected proposition thoughtfully. "Go on."  
  
Ronnie took a deep breath. "If Roger asks you to dance tonight, will you say yes?"  
  
Sarina looked down at her knees, her hair momentarily hiding her expression. From the corner, Freddie cleared his throat loudly in Ronnie's direction, jabbed a finger at the clock on the mantel, and trilled his fingers up the piano keys.  
  
When Sarina finally managed to look back up, her voice was noncommittal. "I think someone is trying to indicate your dance with John is long overdue."  
  
Seeing the tiniest of tears forming in the corners of Sarina's eyes, Ronnie took the gypsy's hand and whispered, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked..."  
  
Sarina patted the hand covering hers. "No, love, think nothing of it. But if I dance with Roger tonight, then you must promise me something in return."  
  
Freddie's mighty voice filled the parlor, increasing in volume the longer Ronnie ignored him.  
  
 _When love breaks up_  
 _When the dawn light wakes up_  
 _A new life is born_  
  
"Anything." Ronnie leaned forward, her fingers grasping the chair's arm in anticipation.  
  
The corner of Sarina's mouth twitched in amusement. "You must promise me you'll kiss John."  
  
Freddie's fingers danced effortlessly across the keys. _Somehow I have to make this final breakthrough..._  
  
Ronnie kept her expression neutral, though the butterflies she often felt when she thought of John suddenly intensified, as if they were fighting to escape the confines of her stomach. "Very well."  
  
Sarina gave Ronnie a long look from beneath her brows. "Tonight."  
  
An alarming bang of distuned musical notes invaded the room as Freddie struck his palms upon the piano keys and exclaimed, "Now!"  
  
Ronnie finally looked over at the overenthusiastic vocalist; though his nose was stuck indignantly in the air, his eyes were fixed on her and they were frighteningly wide.  
  
"Tonight," she whispered in anxious agreement, squeezing Sarina's hand before she hurried over to the piano to placate Freddie.  
  
"Give me just five minutes," she said in a low voice, before she ran from the room on a quest for quill and parchment.  
  
Freddie turned to Anita, who had been leaning against the piano and watching the unfolding events of the evening with interest, and said quite formally, "Will you sing for us darling?"  
  
Anita glanced at Brian, who gave her an encouraging nod, accompanied by the sweetest of smiles.  
  
"Do you know 'I Dream Of Christmas?'" Anita asked.  
  
"I should say so!" Freddie exclaimed, as if the very suggestion that he _hadn't_ known it was preposterous.  
  
Freddie then laid his fingers upon the keys and played a prelude that held a note of cheerful urgency, no doubt indicating that those who planned to serenade their lady loves with a dance (ahem, _Deaky_ ) should consider taking their positions sooner rather than later.  
  
\---  
  
Freddie's prelude was completely unnecessary, as far as John was concerned.  
  
As he leaned his shoulder into the wall and watched Ronnie emerge from the parlor, run across the hallway, and disappear into the library, he shot an accusing look towards the invisible notes floating from the doorway. Freddie needn't remind him. It's not like he had managed to think of anything _but_ her all day!  
  
The lively melody that Freddie was banging out on the piano was the overture to the most important dance of John's life, yes, but that wasn't all, according to Freddie, who had conspiratorially whispered into John's ear early in the evening...  
  
 _"Tonight's the night, darling. Give up all your life for just one kiss."  
_  
 _Doubt lined John's face as he shook his head._  
 _Freddie's interrogatory nature emerged almost instantly. "Well, whyever not? Come now, darling, don't let Sarina's wonderful suggestion go to waste. You have two lips, the White Queen has two lips, don't go and spoil a perfectly good equation..."  
_  
 _John retorted in his mind that that meant absolutely nothing. Plenty of things had lips; Sir Mick Jagger, Delilah, venus fly traps..._

 _"My God, you're sassy today," Freddie muttered, before he brightened and held up his hands to showcase his black fingernails. "I know what will cheer you up...for you, darling. Happy Christmas..."_  
  
John was yanked back to the present by the sudden change of the tune. The merry jangling of the piano had disappeared, only to be replaced by a very solemn droning that made John positively drowsy. He rolled his eyes. If Freddie was trying to tempt him into kissing Ronnie, he was going to have to do better than the Pomp and Circumstance March.  
  
Turning away from the parlor and approaching the Christmas tree, John thought about how there had already been a hundred perfect chances to kiss her. And also, a hundred lost opportunities.  
  
It wasn't fear of rejection; no, he was relatively certain she reciprocated his feelings (which awed him to no end). Rather, it was the ever present self-doubt because, if he did dare to touch his lips to hers, who's to say she wouldn't emerged unscathed? Unharmed? Unburned? Unpregnant...  
  
 _You've done more good than harm, darling._  
  
John pushed Freddie's voice away as he circled the tree. Yes, he had saved her in many different ways and yes, he had learned to control his magic for the most part, but the simple fact was that his power was still fueled by emotion.  
  
Passing by a small table crammed with wine bottles, John finally admitted to himself that Ronnie made him feel all sorts of emotions, emotions that a kiss would only exacerbate.   
  
He tried to ignore the bottles of uncorked San Saphorin (Freddie's favorite, apparently) that were tempting him with their sweet, intoxicating scent and the promise of something else...  
  
 _Confidence_.  
  
John picked up an empty glass. He knew perfectly well that alcohol was not his _forte,_ as Freddie always said, and San Saphorin would have ordinarily never been John's first choice...  
  
His hands trembled as he filled the glass to the brim with wine and it overflowed slightly, sending a chilled stream of alcohol between his fingers.   
  
Of course, getting drunk wouldn't keep Ronnie safe, either, but it was only one glass, just enough to relax him into letting go of his fears so he could finally kiss the woman he had loved for so long.  
  
Just as John was closing his eyes and raising the wine glass to his lips, promising himself that it would only be this once, he was knocked against the wall by a powerful force and the glass tipped over, soaking him with a generous amount of San Saphorin.  
  
\---  
  
The musical clink of wine glasses had pulled Ronnie from her not-quite-so-diabolical planning as she exited the library. Peering curiously around the tree, she saw a sight that made her blood run cold.  
  
John with a glass of wine in his hand. And wine was alcohol, alcohol that would no doubt react with John's magic, and turn him into...  
  
Without even a moment's hesitation, Ronnie kicked off her heels and ran across the polished wooden floorboards. At the moment, he was only staring into the glass as if he couldn't quite make up his mind to take a sip or not, but the scales could tip dangerously at any moment, provoking him to drink long and deep, and then...  
  
He closed his eyes and lifted the glass to his lips. She carefully slowed her momentum as she drew closer, intending to safely pluck the glass from his fingers, but unfortunately, Delilah had other plans.  
  
The merry ringing of jingle bells filled the air as Delilah, believing Ronnie wished to partake in a merry battle of physicality, pounced and shoved her head into Ronnie's backside, causing her to stumble and fall directly into John.  
  
The force of her fall pinned John to the wall; droplets of cool wine splashed Ronnie's arms as the overturned glass in his hand promptly drenched him with sweet alcohol.  
  
As Delilah cheerfully loped away, Ronnie could only stare straight ahead at the very top button of John's shirt as she tried to process what had just happened. Slowly, she looked up into his stark white eyes.  
  
John was staring down at her with an alarmed expression. Her body was pressed against the entire length of his, her fingers grasping his shoulders, and she thought to herself that she should really move, before she got herself completely lost in those pale silver irises that were suddenly tinged with longing now that the perplexion was fading from his face...  
  
She thought of her promise to Sarina, the kiss that was making her so nervous that it was bordering on dread. But no, this wasn't the time nor the place. John didn't need to know her feelings, not yet.  
  
What he needed to know was that he could never, _ever,_ pick up a glass of wine while he was cursed.  
  
Planting her hands against his chest for leverage, Ronnie peeled herself away from him, quite literally because the front of her dress was damp with his wine. Her distance brought John back to himself and he dropped his pained gaze into the empty glass.  
  
As Ronnie observed the careful way in which he was avoiding her eyes, she realized that John had guessed her intent. He knew she was trying to keep him from the alcohol that had swirled so enticingly in that glass, he just didn't know _why.  
_  
Of course he didn't. He didn't know what she knew, what Freddie knew. He didn't know how dangerous just one sip could be.  
  
Ronnie removed the glass from his grasp and set it on the table, before she took his hand in hers and pulled him towards the staircase. They passed a very glum Roger, who looked quite out of place, the bright and beautiful Christmas tree casting him and his subdued Christmas tie into shadow.  
  
She pressed a folded piece of parchment into his hand.  
  
Ronnie didn't know how correct she was in her assessment. Roger had never felt so uncool in his life; he felt even more uncool than the forest green clogs Brian was sporting especially for the occasion.  
  
He suspiciously eyed the Black Queen as Ronnie led him up the staircase, before he unfolded the parchment and read her message.  
  
 _Ask her to dance. She'll say yes._  
  
\---  
  
Sarina was curled up by the fire, her legs slung over the arm of the chair and her bare toes curled as she stared out the window and watched the snowflakes swirling through the night.  
  
Roger approached her just as Anita began to sing.  
  
 _I sit alone by the fireside_  
 _And watch the old year passing by_  
  
He didn't say anything; he merely held out his hand to her.  
  
Sarina looked up into his hopeful blue eyes, not surprised in the least. Placing her hand in his, she allowed him to lead her out into the entryway as she blinked back tears.   
  
_Down the street they're singing party songs_  
 _You know Christmas always makes me cry_  
  
Beside the Christmas tree, Roger twirled her in a fancy little circle (which _did_ make her smile, if only a little bit), before he put one arm around her and took her right hand in his. Hesitantly, she put a hand on his shoulder.  
  
 _I dream of Christmas_  
 _I dream of Christmas_  
 _Maybe my dreams will come true_  
  
Though they were only spinning in a slow circle, she moved cautiously, lest Roger step on her bare toes. He seemed to sense this, for he pulled her closer, effortlessly lifting her so that she was standing upon his shoes.  
  
 _I dream of Christmas_  
 _A merry Christmas_  
 _I dream of Christmas and you_  
  
It took away any effort on her part and for that, Sarina was grateful. She allowed Roger to lead her where he would as her thoughts spiraled inevitably towards her infinity love, as she knew they would.  
  
 _And so tonight my thoughts are reaching out_  
 _Though you're a million miles away_  
  
He was probably even more than a million miles away but Sarina forced herself not to think of that. It was difficult enough that she was dancing in someone else's arms; speculative thoughts would only make things worse.  
  
But Sarina knew it had been the right choice. She would do anything to see Ronnie and John take that next important step towards trust, to know Ronnie was safe with her _own_ infinity love, and so here Sarina was, braving those powerful, painful memories.  
  
 _Your spirit fills the air and comforts me_  
 _I know you're always by my side_  
  
Almost as if her infinity love had given her permission, Sarina untangled her fingers from Roger's and wound both arms around his neck, burying her face in Roger's shoulder. He gently ran his fingers up and down her spine in a soothing motion, before he enveloped her fully in his arms. He hummed along with Anita's voice and the vibration from his throat ticked Sarina's eardrums. That alone was so comforting that she suddenly felt grateful that Roger _was_ there with her and she turned her head to gaze up at the tree.  
  
The white lights gradually became a blur due to Sarina's watery vision. As she and Roger clung to each other, she wondered what Roger would think if he ever knew he was the first person she had danced with since her infinity love's death.  
  
The first person she had danced with in five years.  
  
\---  
  
If anyone had tiptoed up the staircase and sat at the very top, they would have seen two figures dancing in the hallway, stuck together thanks to damp, wine-soaked clothing. They would have admired the way the light of the Christmas Eve moon filtered through the windowpanes to spotlight those two figures.  
  
Anyone observing from the stop of the staircase would have seen the Black Queen holding the White Queen close as she whispered into his ear what she and Freddie had discovered in the spellbook. They would have watched as understanding dawned on the Black Queen's face and listened to the regret lacing the White Queen's voice.  
  
The would have heard her say, "promise me you won't," and they would have seen the Black Queen nod his assent.  
  
Any eavesdroppers would have watched as the Black Queen pulled back slightly to look at the White Queen's face, only inches from his. They would have noticed how he tried to swallow his anxiety; the pleading look on his face, mixed very faintly with yearning, would have pierced their hearts as the flames of the candles in the hallway wavered dangerously.  
  
They would have observed with interest as the White Queen leaned a tiny bit closer, just barely brushing her lips against the Black Queen's, letting him know it was all right, that she _trusted_ him.  
  
And they would have witnessed the Black Queen's eyes glow brightly in the dark before he finally pressed his lips against hers.   
  
And though there was no one else actually there, if there _had_ been, they would have retreated down a stair or two for their own safety. For as the Black Queen kissed the White Queen, the candle flames danced wildly, shooting a few inches higher into the darkness, before they stilled and glowed with a brilliant intensity.  
  
\---  
  
As Anita's lovely voice lingered on the final word of the song, she looked up into Brian's eyes and smiled. Feeling as if he were intruding on a private moment, Freddie turned to look through the doorway; though he couldn't see Ronnie and John, he hoped they were dancing their little hearts out somewhere beyond. For the love of Trident, even Roger had managed to snag a date tonight! A _real_ date, not a one night stand.  
  
Freddie wistfully turned back to the piano. He adored seeing his friends happy and matchmaking was certainly an admirable career he would no doubt succeed at, but at the very same time...  
  
Allowing his fingers to flow across the piano keys, he surrounded himself with melody and softly sang, "Can anybody find me..."  
  
And feeling his heart really wasn't into it, he sighed as he dropped his hands and finished in a whisper, "...somebody to love."  
  
Hearing the soft peal of silver bells and feeling something cold and wet on his fingers, Freddie looked down to see Delilah nudging his hand affectionately.  
  
He mustered a grin for her. "You'll do, darling."  
  
\---  
  
The most remarkable results bloomed from Ronnie's newly cemented trust in John.  
  
Freddie began to have a difficult time reading minds; he actually looked at Ronnie one morning and furrowed his brow in concentration, before admitting, "I have no idea what you're thinking, darling."  
  
And Brian regained a bit of his musicality; one afternoon, he settled the skull guitar on his lap, plucked at the strings, and managed to strum out an actual tune.  
  
Then the paranoia that had turned Roger's heart black began to fade away; one evening at dinner, John accidentally knocked his spoon to the ground and as Delilah triumphantly carried away her new prize, Roger offered John his own spoon without so much as a frosty look _or_ a snide remark.  
  
Ronnie knew once she removed John's crown, she wouldn't only be breaking one curse; she'd be breaking four. And so, she began to looking forward to the moment she could free them all with great anticipation. She especially couldn't wait to look into John's eyes and see the beautiful gray irises she had seen only once before, quite by accident.  
  
It was true that Ronnie could have removed John's crown at anytime, but having already failed twice, she decided it would be best if she sought a bit of advice first.  
  
A week after Christmas, she poked her head into the library to find Freddie at the large mahogany desk, bent over a piece of parchment as he scribbled furiously.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Ronnie tapped politely on the door frame and said, "Freddie, I'm ready."  
  
Freddie looked up from his composition and frowned, trying to discern just exactly what she was ready for. But when he saw the look in her eyes, he knew.  
  
"Darling, are you absolutely sure?"  
  
Ronnie's face broke into a smile she had not been expecting. "Yes!"  
  
Freddie leapt from his chair, hurried across the room, and took her hands in his. He twirled her in a celebratory circle. "Then it's settled, darling. We're to have an Uncrowning!"  
  
 **The Uncrowning**  
 **New Year's Day**  
  
Though they were just a day or two away from a mighty blizzard, the day of the Uncrowning dawned bright and mild. It was for this reason that Freddie reverently rolled a red carpet he had found in the attic out onto the terrace and declared that John would be uncrowned in the light of the setting sun.  
  
John had arched his eyebrow at this and Freddie, ever the poet, had explained, "Because the sun is setting on the darkest period of your life, darling. _Obviously._ "  
  
He encouraged everyone to dress in their finest and that's how Ronnie found herself standing nervously at the double doors to the terrace, dressed in a gown of white that had required both Sarina _and_ Anita to lace up the elaborate corset-like back. Her hair, longer than it had been when she had first left her village, fell down her back in a tumble of strawberry-blonde curls.  
  
Peeking out the window, Ronnie saw John pacing the terrace, dressed entirely in black, and she smiled. Freddie had taken the Black Queen and White Queen titles quite seriously when it came to the dress code for the occasion.  
  
Freddie's voice pulled Ronnie away from the window and her ensuing thoughts.  
  
"It's time, darling," he said in a hushed voice, as if he were trying to carefully avoid disturbing a church service.  
  
Ronnie looked over her shoulder at her small family assembled in the entryway, everyone wearing a variety of encouraging expressions. Brian, Anita, Roger, Sarina, Delilah, Brighton - they all would wait here (and likely eavesdrop from the window), so as not to make Ronnie and John nervous by the presence of too many witnesses.  
  
Taking Freddie's proffered arm, Ronnie felt the winter air chill her toes as she stepped barefoot onto the red carpet (because, according to Freddie, her bare toes represented purity, though Ronnie had tried to assure him that warm toes safely in boots were no less pure).  
  
John stopped stalking the flagstones in order to watch her walk down the carpet; though his hands were nervously clasped together, his expression softened. The late December wind that stirred his black hair brought with it a promise of a storm, further confirmed by heavy white clouds that were covering the pale winter sun as it disappeared behind the trees.  
  
"Kneel, darling," Freddie commanded John softly.  
  
As Ronnie stood before John and stared down at him, his head bowed as he knelt upon the red carpet, she couldn't deny that she did feel very much like a queen. A slightly anxious queen, though she pushed those thoughts away, knowing she would succeed in decrowning John this time.  
  
She trusted him more than she had ever trusted anyone in her entire life.  
  
"When you're ready, my dear," Freddie said gently to Ronnie, before he stepped away.  
  
John looked up at her, a reassuring smile tugging the corner of his mouth, before he stared straight ahead at her midsection, in order to give her the best possible leverage to remove the crown.  
  
A feeling of exhilaration swept from Ronnie's heart, all the way down to tingle in her fingers, as she placed her hands on the spiky thorns of the crown.   
  
Just as quickly, that exhilaration was washed away by a wave of nausea as her stomach lurched dangerously. With her hands still on John's crown of thorns, Ronnie double over and felt John immediately grasp her waist to steady her.  
  
"Darling?" Freddie whispered in concern.  
  
Ronnie was about to declare that it was nothing, that she was all right, but the uncomfortable sensation of bile rising in her throat prevented that; if she was going to spew anything, it certainly wouldn't be lies.  
  
Ronnie stared wide-eyed into John's own worried gaze, wishing desperately that whatever was ailing her hadn't chosen _now_ , of all times, to interfere. If only it could have waited until she had broken the curse! But as it were, the Uncrowning would need to be delayed just a little bit longer.  
  
"I need a moment," Ronnie managed to say, before she clamped a hand over her mouth and ran down Freddie's makeshift aisle. Bursting through the terrace doors and sweeping past her bewildered friends (who had nonchalantly moved away from the windows) she tore up the staircase, fell upon the bathroom floor, and retched.  
  
\---

The result of this unexpected vomiting fit was Ronnie finding herself on her back as Sarina gently probed her stomach with skillful fingers.  
  
Concerned expressions and outstretched hands had lured her to her bed and the door had been closed upon the males of the household, who were left to speculate by themselves in the hallway. This gave Sarina the freedom to slip Ronnie's dress up to her waist so she could put her hands on either side of Ronnie's rounded belly and press gently, working her way methodically down to her pubic bone.  
  
As Anita grasped her hand in support, Ronnie frowned up at Sarina, wondering just what exactly she was hoping to diagnose her with.

After a thorough external investigation, Sarina pulled a strip of measuring cloth from her pocket, stretched it from the top of Ronnie's abdomen and over her bump. She squinted at the tiny black numbers on the cloth, before she nodded in confirmation and busied herself with folding the cloth back up.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Sarina took Ronnie's free hand and patted it reassuringly, as if she were preparing to pacify an agitated child.  
  
Ronnie, quite anxious by this point, swallowed hard. "And what did you discover?"  
  
"Ronnie, you're..." Sarina hesitated, before she sighed. "You're ten weeks pregnant."  
  
Ronnie struggled to a sitting position. "I am not!"  
  
Sarina ignored this declaration of innocence. "When's the last time your period came?"  
  
"September, I think."  
  
"Ronnie, it's almost January," Anita informed her, quite unnecessarily.

"Sarina, you must be mistaken," Ronnie whispered, though her voice was trembling. "I'm sure the only thing I'm a proud parent of is...indigestion."  
  
"I've delivered many babies," Sarina said very softly, "and your symptoms and presentation are identical to the pregnant women I've assisted."  
  
"But it's not possible," Ronnie protested.  
  
"Ronnie, the vomiting, and missed periods, and the bump..."  
  
"Sarina! It's _not possible."_ Ronnie widened her eyes meaningfully, trying to make her friend understand what she was trying to say.  
  
It was Sarina's turn to look alarmed. "You mean you haven't...?"  
  
"No!"  
  
Anita released Ronnie's hand and moved towards the door. "We need to tell the boys."  
  
Ronnie stretched her hand out imploringly. "No!"  
  
"But they might know something," Anita insisted.  
  
"Anita's right," Sarina said emphatically. "Because Ronnie, if you didn't become pregnant in the _traditional_ way, then there could be a darker force at work here."  
  
"And if that's the case, John needs to know about it so he can protect you," Anita added.  
  
The defiant flame in Ronnie's eyes gradually faded, until it was extinguished entirely by a misty haze of fear. "Please," she whispered. "Please don't tell him."  
  
"Excellent idea," Anita agreed. "You should tell him yourself."  
  
"I just..." Ronnie dropped her head as she twisted her fingers together fretfully. "I just need to be alone so I can process this. Could you please tell them I'm going to bed?"  
  
"But Ronnie, the Uncrowning..." Sarina reminded her gently.  
  
Ronnie shut her eyes tightly and saw the hope that had glistened in John's eyes, just moments before. It permeated the dark space behind her lids, practically blinding her.  
  
"I can't do it," she whispered.  
  
"Why not, love?" Sarina asked.  
  
Why? Because she couldn't walk back down that soft, red carpet and pretend that everything was fine. Because as soon as she looked into John's eyes, he'd know the truth. Because if he studied her face for long enough, he'd sense the unreasonable - yet unavoidable - shame that was threatening to engulf her.  
  
But the most significant reason - and perhaps the most heartbreaking - was that deep down, Ronnie felt the smallest tinge of distrust tainting her heart. It had absolutely no business being there and she couldn't yet explain it's presence. But as long as she felt even an ounce of mistrust, the crown would never come off and she couldn't bear to disappoint John in that way.  
  
Ronnie didn't tell her friends the truth. She merely said she felt terribly sick and left it at that.

\---

As Anita and Sarina slipped out of Ronnie's room and closed the door behind them, Freddie put a hand on Sarina's arm and asked for news. In the calmest voice she could muster, Sarina explained that Ronnie was not feeling well.  
  
"Your face is telling me another story, darling," Freddie remarked.  
  
"We need to let her be so she can rest," Sarina replied in a firm voice, pulling him away from the door.  
  
"But what's wrong with her?" Roger asked nervously.  
  
"Stomach flu," Sarina murmured, before she swiftly retreated down the stairs.  
  
Anita touched Freddie's shoulder and pointed to the window, where a soft snow had begun to fall. "You better go fetch your carpet before it gets ruined."  
  
As Brian and Freddie hurried out into the encroaching darkness to rescue the regal red carpet from the winter elements, Anita tempted Roger down the stairs and into the warmth of the kitchen. John took two steps up the stairway that led to the turret bedroom, to make it look like he was retiring for the evening.  
  
But as soon as everyone had disappeared, he walked quietly to Ronnie's bedroom and leaned his head against the closed door, fervently hoping that it _was_ just a stomach flu and not what he had been fearing. He had been so close to gaining his voice back, so close to being able to warn her...  
  
Turning, he slid down the length of the wall until he hit the ground, pulled his knees to his chest, and put his face in his hands.


	15. Chapter 15

Everything is ten times louder than it should be in the dead of the night.  
  
Ronnie experienced that first hand when she opened her bedroom door and it groaned dreadfully, letting out a noise eerily similar to a dying animal.   
  
Sighing in disgust, she quickly shut the door and held her breath as she heard someone else's bedroom door croak in response to her own and soft footsteps shuffling down the hall towards her room. She couldn't say she was surprised. She was certain she had alarmed her friends by shutting herself away all night, even refusing dinner when it was offered. It would be entirely natural that they'd come and investigate if there was any sign of life from her corner of the castle.  
  
The reasonable thing to do would have been to crawl right back into bed and attempt sleep. But sleep hadn't come and likely wouldn't before the winter sunrise. And so, a trip to the castle's library was sorely needed, to distract Ronnie from her maddening thoughts.  
  
The night watchman of the hallway retreated back from whence they came; as soon as their door shut with a soft thud, Ronnie opened her own door inch by excruciating inch, so as not to make a sound.  
  
The moon had been taken hostage by storm clouds, leaving the hallway black as pitch, except for a soft light near the stairway that led to John's room. There, atop a circular end table, was an ornate silver candelabra filled with luminous candles. Ronnie frowned; it was almost as if someone had left it there on purpose, fully expecting her to brave the night at some point.  
  
The small table was beneath the banister that was carved to resemble a lion's face; Ronnie ran a thumb over the arched eyebrows, the fanged teeth, and the wooden mane, before wrapping cold fingers around the candelabra. Holding it at the level of her eyes, she lifted the hem of her white gown with her free hand as she descended the staircase.  
  
If she had bothered to look behind her, she would have seen, floating in the darkness, two white orbs that resembled the glow of pupil-less eyes.  
  
But as it were, Ronnie was consumed with caution as she carefully navigated the staircase, wishing she had accepted Sarina's earlier offer to unlace her dress. But despair had clouded Ronnie's judgement at the time and she had refused. As a result, she would be the prisoner of the Uncrowning dress until morning.  
  
The tightness of the corset around her waist only served to remind her that the Uncrowning would not happen now. And the soft folds of silk brushing her thighs made her realize that she looked positively medieval, tiptoeing down an ancient castle staircase in a flowing gown of white while carrying a candelabra...at the witching hour, of all times.  
  
She couldn't help but be thankful Roger was safely tucked in bed, for if he saw her he would have surely thought she was a ghost and tried to defend himself in unpredictable ways. No, thank goodness she was alone.  
  
If she had chanced a glance over her shoulder, she would have seen long pale fingers upon the banister, the black fingernails blending perfectly into the shadows.  
  
But Ronnie only had eyes for the library door ahead; the tension in her spine lessened as she slipped into the book sanctuary and closed the door behind her. Though a creak from the floorboards in the entryway did made her lock the door.  
  
Ronnie spun in a slow circle, observing all the books and wondering which would be the lucky chosen one to distract her from her distress. She ran her fingers over the dusty, colorful spines before she selected a book on space fiction - something she knew John was very interested in.  
  
Placing the candelabra on a nearby table, Ronnie was about to open the book to the first page, when a large, dark object on the mahogany desk caught her eye.  
  
It was the black, leatherbound spellbook. Without quite knowing why, Ronnie found herself running her fingers over the matte red lettering. _On Dark Magic and Forbidden Spells._  
  
She was just wondering if that meant it had been forbidden for John to save her life, when she noticed a blood red bookmark protruding from the pages. Overcome with curiosity, Ronnie put the book on space fiction aside and hefted the heavy spellbook into her arms.  
  
Perching herself at the edge of an armchair, Ronnie opened the tome to the bookmarked page. There was just enough light to read by, thanks to the red coals that still glowed in the hearth, the remains of a fire from earlier. There was no doubt in her mind that she had been the topic of discussion around the fire the night before.  
  
Ronnie studied the page on the left first, the one titled _Divination Spell._ She ran her finger down the text as she absorbed prohibited knowledge, her curiosity piqued as she read the spell that would enable a warlock to peer into the future.  
  
 _Why is this spell bookmarked?_ she wondered to herself. Perhaps John had wanted to know the outcome of the Uncrowning; honestly, she wouldn't have blamed him one bit if...  
  
Ronnie's thoughts were interrupted as her eyes fell on the title of the spell on the opposite page.  
  
_Pregnancy Spell_  
  
At first, she stared at it dumbly, her mind not making the connection.  
  
But then, very slowly and oh so painfully, the truth grasped her by the throat with cold, unforgiving fingers.  
  
Whoever had placed this bookmark between these pages hadn't been interested in a Divination Spell. It was the Pregnancy Spell they had been after; her sudden, unexplained pregnancy was evidence of that.  
  
And the only person in the castle who had the ability to cast such a spell was John.  
  
The very thought caused Ronnie to drop the spellbook, as if it had burned her. It hit the floor (and her toes) with a resounding bang and she let out an involuntary cry of pain.  
  
Almost instantly, the library door rattled as someone grasped the handle and tried to enter.  
  
Ronnie sprang to her feet and looked around wildly for a hiding place. The castle might have been a fortress, but the locks on its doors were not quite so effective at keeping out invaders.  
  
A loud, urgent knock reverberated on the wooden door.  
  
Beyond the desk, beyond the table, in the furthest corner of the room, was another door. While the thought of being trapped in a closet wasn't particularly appealing, it appeared Ronnie didn't have a choice. She could already hear metal against metal as the lock on the library door was skillfully tampered with.  
  
In her haste, she managed to trip over the damn spellbook. She silently cursed it.  
  
Just as it had assisted in cursing her.  
  
She wrenched open the closet door and disappeared inside, only to find it wasn't a closet at all. She was at the bottom of a flight of crooked stone steps. And while ordinarily, finding a secret passageway would have thrilled her to bits, the shock from the discovery of the pregnancy spell was quickly wearing off to be replaced by a terrible feeling of agony.  
  
Ronnie tried desperately to deny the truth, to come up with another explanation, but then she remembered the night John had cradled her in his arms as she lay dying; the incantation he had recited echoed through her mind.  
  
 _Oh, oh children of the land_  
 _Quicken to the new life..._  
  
Quicken to the _new life._ Like the life she now felt within her.  
  
Ronnie's blood began to boil with rage because how _dare_ he!   
  
As the library door burst open, she fell to her knees and peered through the keyhole. The candles in the candelabra flickered, bathing Freddie and John with a ghostly, wavering light. Ronnie wished she had thought to blow the candles out.  
  
She watched as Freddie picked up the spellbook, studied the page, and sighed.   
  
Turning to John, he said in a low voice, "She found the spell, darling. She knows."  
  
John's eerie white eyes rested on the page for a brief moment, before they swept across the room to the door in the corner. He fixed his gaze on the keyhole Ronnie was peering through and she fell back with a frightened gasp.  
  
Knowing they'd find her, she scrambled to her feet and ran up the hidden stone staircase as quietly as she could, using the walls to feel her way through the darkness. The stone steps sharply turned to reveal a staircase that spiraled ever upward. She continued to climb, wishing very much to crawl through the small door she had just passed, but fearing she'd corner herself in a place she wouldn't be able to escape.   
  
Through some much appreciated miracle, Ronnie finally came to the very top and launched herself through a door that was identical to the one at the bottom of the stairs; medieval with aged wood and black hinges. She shut it tightly behind her and ran down a stone passageway, pressing her hand against the dull ache in her side.  
  
And then she turned the corner and found herself in a rounded tower.  
  
The walls were crumbling with age, the wooden floorboards were stained with memory. But the space was still hauntingly beautiful, all because of a giant, arched stained glass window that dominated half the wall. A simple wooden bench was positioned before it.  
  
Ronnie had stumbled upon a hidden chapel. She sank onto the bench just as the clouds freed the moon; light filtered through the window and pierced the darkness with heavenly blues and oranges. 

Yet nothing heavenly could pierce the darkness in her own soul because John had impregnated her willingly, of this she was certain. Freddie's statement _(she knows, darling)_ was proof of that. And they had both kept it a secret from her.  
  
She had tried so hard to trust him, she had wanted so badly to believe he was more than the feared and fabled Black Queen. But he had penetrated her with his dark, forbidden magic and as a result, a piece of him had been growing inside her for nigh on three months.  
  
She had been conquered.  
  
Collapsing upon the bench, Ronnie's elbows scrapped against the rough wood as she burst into tears, feeling her trust in John shatter completely.  
  
\---  
  
It's not certain what time Ronnie left the hidden chapel. It's not clear how she managed to drag her tired body through the small door on the spiral staircase. It's not known how long she managed to sleep before Anita and Sarina knocked on the door and freed her from her Uncrowning dress.  
  
No, in her fragile state of mind, Ronnie couldn't be sure of anything anymore. All she knew was that it was mid-morning and she was being forced to make an appearance at breakfast.  
  
It's not that she hadn't fought Sarina and Anita tooth and nail; she most certainly had. But they had pulled out their secret weapon: their knowledge of Ronnie's empathy.  
  
They had told Ronnie that poor Roger had been up since dawn, scrambling eggs and frying bacon and burning himself on the stove. He had known she had been too sick to eat anything the night before, so he had decided to provide her with a hearty breakfast and he would be terribly disappointed if she didn't come downstairs.  
  
And so Ronnie sat on the grand staircase in the entryway, glaring at the Christmas tree and listening to the clink of silverware floating from the dining room, while wondering if pity pancakes tasted any different than regular pancakes.  
  
With a sigh, she stood and trudged down the stairs, her broken heart trailing behind her and hitting each step with a resounding thud. After all, it was only fifteen minutes or so, and then she could retreat back into despair's welcoming arms.  
  
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Ronnie stepped into the dining room and was immediately greeted by bright smiles and enthusiastic good morning wishes. She attempted to return the good morning cheer and failed.  
  
She almost turned around and marched right back up the stairs when she saw the only available empty seat was next to John. But Freddie had already rose to his feet and hurried around the table to pull her chair out for her.  
  
He motioned to it grandly, indicating she should make herself comfortable. "For you, madam!"  
  
Ronnie couldn't find it within her to smile because, after all, Freddie had lied to her just as surely as John had. She sat stiffly in the chair, wincing as her arm brushed John's.  
  
"How did you sleep, darling?" Freddie asked her kindly, as if he had never found the open spellbook on the floor of the library the night before. As if he hadn't assisted John with ruining her life.  
  
"It looks like she didn't," Roger remarked as he momentarily turned his attention away from a plateful of eggs.  
  
Ronnie swallowed painfully. The smell of bacon was making her stomach churn dangerously.  
  
"Are you feeling better, Ronnie?" Brian asked from the other end of the table.  
  
"Y-yes," Ronnie lied as she reached for a piece of buttered toast, though she had no appetite whatsoever. Hoping to encourage everyone to change the subject and leave her be, she kept her eyes on her plate as she felt around for her fork.  
  
She felt soft fingers upon hers and startled, she looked up to see John gently guiding her own fingers over to her fork.  
  
His touch was like a bolt of lightning on her skin. She immediately dropped her gaze just as a tear fell from her eye, landing on the browned landscape of her toast. The salty teardrop mingled and merged with melted butter.  
  
Ronnie was uncomfortably aware of John's eyes on her; it was as if his stare was infiltrating her very soul, permitting him to see into her heart. She could practically feel his concern washing over her, like a tidal wave.  
  
It was too much, too soon. With a mumbled _excuse me please,_ Ronnie pulled her hand away, pushed back from the table, and ran from the room.   
  
She managed to make it halfway up the staircase before John, hot on her heels, grabbed her hand. As he gently tugged her back down the stairs towards him, she refused to look at him, instead concentrating on methodically trying to release her fingers from his grasp.  
  
His voice seized her ears.

 _Look in my eyes and speak to me_  
  
Ronnie's eyes slowly traveled from their interlocked fingers and up his chest, until she was looking into the whiteness of his worried eyes.  
  
When he squeezed her fingers, it tipped her off the deep end.  
  
"How could you," she whispered, a dangerous edge to her voice, sharper than any sword.  
  
Realization slowly dawned in John's eyes; the concern on his face morphed into a pained expression.  
  
She tore her hand from his and gripping his shirtfront, pushed him into the wall. _"How could you!"_  
  
\---  
  
 _"How could you!"_  
  
As the White Queen's irate voice invaded the dining room, Freddie and Brian exchanged an alarmed look, before they jumped to their feet, overturning their chairs in their haste. Sarina was already hurrying towards the door, warning them that this should be a private conversation between John and Ronnie, but a determined Freddie and a very apologetic Brian managed to slip out of the dining room before she shut the door, trapping Roger and Anita within.  
  
Out in the entryway, Freddie observed the impressive way in which Ronnie was pinning Deaky to the wall and commented, "Darling, I'm sure that whatever you're thinking he did, it's entirely Roger's fault!"  
  
That was not true, of course, but it was a necessary lie, in order to draw Ronnie's attention to Freddie before she succeeded in burning Deaky alive with her stare.  
  
A noble, yet failed, attempt on Freddie's part, for Ronnie's eyes never left Deaky's as she said, in a low voice dripping with dismay, "No. No, this isn't Roger's fault. Roger didn't..."  
  
She bit her trembling lower lip, unable to get the proper words out, as she twisted her fingers mercilessly into the fabric of Deaky's shirt. Freddie winced as he heard the fabric tear. Deaky looked away, as if it had been his heart tearing instead of his shirt. Which perhaps it had been.  
  
As Brian carefully approached Ronnie with an outstretched hand, as if he were trying to calm a wild she-bear, Freddie said, "Darling, there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for..."  
  
"Reasonable explanation!?" Ronnie exclaimed. "Tell me what's so reasonable about _impregnating_ a woman you were pretending to love!"  
  
John shook his head fiercely and leaned towards her. _How I loved you!_  
  
Ronnie flinched away from him. Deaky looked at Freddie helplessly, and Freddie was mildly surprised to find that he could read his friend's mind again. It was no doubt Ronnie's blazing distrust that had returned his unwanted ability to read minds. And speaking of which, Deaky's mind was throbbing like a stubbed toe.  
  
Freddie knew his dear friend would never be able to adequately explain himself to Ronnie. There would never be enough song lyrics in the world for that. Therefore, it was his duty to be his best friend's voice, his words, his explanation. After glancing at the bassist for confirmation, he turned to Ronnie and said in a sincere voice, "It was an accident."  
  
Ronnie glared at Deaky. "Liar!"  
  
The word was like a sword in Deaky's abdomen; Freddie could see that clearly enough. The bassist's face fell as Brian slowly grasped Ronnie's shoulders from behind, pulling her away.

"Your pregnancy was an unfortunate side effect of the spell Deaky used to cure you of the Great Sickness," Brian said softly as he took her hand and began to pat it reassuringly. "And we have proof of that."  
  
Freddie's eyes lit up; how could he have forgotten!  
  
"Yes, we do!" he said with the utmost confidence as he marched around the Christmas tree, down the hall, and into the library. Snatching the giant spellbook, he brought it directly to Ronnie, her hand still being held hostage by Brian's soothing fingers.  
  
Deaky had folded his arms around himself, trying to retreat further into the wall.  
  
Opening the book wide and aiming it at Ronnie, Freddie jabbed his finger at the page opposite the Pregnancy Spell. "See, darling? Illness Cure Spell. If you observe them both closely, you'll see they're practically one and the same."  
  
Brian nodded in agreement. "Your pregnancy _was_ an accident, Ronnie, one that occurred when he was trying to save you."  
  
Ronnie studied the page carefully, before her gaze found Freddie's, her eyes darkening. "I don't see an Illness Cure Spell."  
  
Freddie rotated the book and saw that she was correct in her assessment.   
  
Brian leaned over Ronnie's shoulder to peer at the book, his brow furrowing. "Where'd it go?"  
  
 _For fuck's sake!_ Freddie thought to himself as he ran a raging finger down the torn ridges in the center of the book where the Illness Cure Spell should have been. Who would have dared tear that page out? Who would have taken that page and left only this infernal Divination Spell? No wonder the White Queen was furious, the evidence to support Deaky's innocence was simply not there.  
  
"I'll be damned if I know, darling," Freddie murmured as he began to turn the pages urgently, as if the Illness Cure Spell had merely decided to go on a jolly holiday to another chapter in the book.  
  
Deaky swallowed hard, before he reached out to Ronnie, his eyes desperate, his pointed teeth sinking into his lower lip in a stab of uncertainty. The anger in Ronnie's eyes was replaced by fear as she wrenched her hand from Brian's and began to back away. Deaky approached her, but the closer he came, the more fervently Ronnie retreated, until he had succeeded in backing her into the Christmas tree.  
  
Knowing she was trapped, Ronnie held up her hands to shield herself from his touch and Freddie knew that no words could have hurt Deaky more than that one simple gesture.   
  
At the same time, the sudden movement caused the branches to tremble, shaking ornaments free. They shattered as, one by one, they hit the ground, surrounding Ronnie with sharp fragments of red, white, and green. She tried to protect her bare toes by curling them inward. Brian immediately turned on his heel to search for a broom.  
  
With a sudden burst of emotion, Ronnie whispered in disbelief, "I trusted you!"   
  
Deaky's eyes implored her to understand as his voice filled the room.   
  
_This is a tricky situation  
  
_ Ronnie's eyes flared.   
  
Hoping to come to poor mute Deaky's rescue, Freddie declared, "I know that seed of trust we planted is still inside you somewhere, darling."  
  
Ronnie let out a flat humorless laugh that sounded very much like it should have come from Roger, _not_ the White Queen.   
  
"Oh, yes," she said to Deaky, almost conversationally. "We planted that seed of trust _very_ carefully, didn't we? I tended it every day, and watered it, and made sure it got enough sunlight. And despite my fear in you, that seed of trust grew."  
  
Freddie bristled. He was just wondering how she had so effortlessly managed to abduct his metaphor when she suddenly lifted her oversized tunic to expose her belly and the very gentle curve that was protruding over pants that would no longer button.  
  
His eyes widened. For almost three months he had been certain she had been spared; how had they missed all the signs?  
  
Ronnie jabbed a finger at her abdomen. "But this new seed that _you_ have planted has dislodged my treasured seed of trust. Now there's a _baby growing there instead!"  
_  
Ronnie's shrill words were clearly chipping bits of Deaky's heart away; Freddie could practically see the red fragments bleeding on the floor as Deaky stared in shock at the slightly swollen belly that was now holding the baby in question.  
  
Freddie tossed all semblance of gentleness over his shoulder and exclaimed, "He didn't do it on purpose! How can you think that of him, darling? He saved your life!"  
  
"He didn't, Freddie!" Ronnie argued, her voice barely above a whisper. "He's taken my life _away!_ Do you have any idea how the people in my village treat unwed mothers? There's a reason every girl has to take an elaborate journey to pick a virgin flower before she gets married! In order to prove she's pure enough - _worthy_ enough - to marry her husband!"  
  
"You're still pure, darling!" Freddie claimed passionately. "Deaky hasn't actually...erm..."  
  
"It doesn't matter _how_ he did it!" Ronnie said, her voice fierce. "What matters is that he _did_ and they will _shun_ me for it!"  
  
"Then your quarrel should be with the small-minded individuals you live with!" Freddie proclaimed. "Not with this poor dear who stands wretchedly before you, who loved you enough to tamper with dark magic, who - if I may so boldly remind you - _saved your life!"  
_  
Deaky had been unable to tear his eyes away from Ronnie's belly during this entire exchange but now, he lifted his gaze, daring to hope that those words would move her. But she only shook her head, her eyes burning with tears as she whispered in a voice that was pure venom, "You should have just let me _die!"  
_  
That last word was half a sob, half a poisoned arrow in Deaky's heart. The bassist stumbled back, as if she had struck him.   
  
Freddie's hands curled into fists; if only she knew how much it had cost him to save her, of what he had gone through in order to reach into the underworld and return her to earth!  
  
Ronnie made the smallest of motions; clearly she had completely forgotten the broken ornaments scattered around the tree and was preparing to unknowingly scamper barefoot through the glass in order to run away.  
  
But Deaky was faster. Quick as a flash of deadly lightning, he lunged forward, his boots crunching against the glass fragments, and caught her by the waist before she could lacerate her feet.  
  
Neither of them moved. Freddie blinked, fearing for one ridiculous moment that time had stopped, because there the White Queen and the Black Queen stood, frozen. Ronnie, with her hands raised in the air, in an effort to avoid getting too close to Deaky. And Deaky, with his fingers gripping her waist, preventing her from leaving. And the both of them, staring into each other's eyes, as if for one merciful moment, this wasn't real.  
  
Just fantasy.  
  
It was almost too intense. But then Brian chose this moment, of all moments, to reappear with the broom and announce, "I've come to pick up the broken pieces!"

"Oh?" Freddie asked politely. "Do you want to clear the broken glass first, or what's left of Deaky's heart?"  
  
Their voices brought Deaky back to the present. He lifted Ronnie over the broken glass and placed her safely on the bottom step of the staircase, perhaps not realizing he would be aiding her in running away from him. As his fingers accidentally - yet unavoidably - brushed her swollen belly, his eyes flashed white as her words sunk themselves deeply into his very soul.  
  
 _You should have just let me die!  
_

Releasing her, Deaky gave a curt nod of acknowledgment as he folded his arms. _Who wants to live forever?_

From behind, the dining room door began to shake as it's inhabitant (Roger, no doubt) tried to free himself.  
  
Unnerving Ronnie with his eyes, which were slowly being flecked with tiny droplets of red, Deaky allowed his voice to completely and utterly invade her mind. _When love must die!_   
  
Ronnie clamped a hand over her mouth, turned on her heel, and raced up the stairs, just as the dining room door crashed open.  
  
"Well, there you are!" Freddie said irritably as Roger stomped over to the Christmas tree.  
  
As Deaky turned to leave, Brian stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, clearly intending to ask him if he was all right _(what a stupid, senseless question_ , Freddie thought to himself).   
  
Deaky's shook his head as his face darkened.

 _Love is a roulette wheel  
  
_ And then he disappeared down the hallway and into the library.  
  
Sarina's soft voice floated from the doorway of the dining room, where she was standing with her arms folded. "Did you all know this entire time?"  
  
She was, of course, asking if the three remaining band members had been aware of Ronnie's pregnancy all along, but her eyes were fixed on Roger.  
  
Very slowly, the drummer nodded.  
  
Sarina stared at him; though her face was calm and still, her eyes swam with dismay. And then, with a simple nod that meant nothing yet _everything_ at the very same time, she turned and rejoined Anita in the dining room, shutting the door behind her.  
  
Snow thunder rumbled in the distance, perfectly matching the thunderous look that passed over Roger's face. A blizzard was coming in more ways than one.  
  
"If you wish to redeem yourself in her eyes," Freddie said quietly, "then go to him. Go to Deaky and offer him your support."  
  
Roger stared at the closed dining room door, clearly debating if could risk denying Freddie's request, before he stalked off down the hallway in search of the Black Queen.  
  
\---  
  
 _Where the hell is he?_ Roger thought to himself as he looked into rooms, around corners, and behind potted plants. His search for the Black Queen had brought him the entire length of the castle, but he was nowhere to be found; he most certainly had _not_ been in the library. He wasn't even in his turret lair.  
  
Thumping back down the staircase to the second floor, Roger was about to utter a wholehearted _fuck this,_ when he spotted a splash of blood upon the ground. His eyes traveled a few feet further and found another blood droplet soaking the aged stone floor.  
  
Roger followed the trail of tears around the corner and to a door that was so small he had to get on his hands and knees to crawl through it. Once through the doorway, he found himself halfway up a stone spiral staircase.   
  
The blood tears beckoned to him, insisting that he climb to the very top of this damned staircase and go through the door at the top. They practically called to him, luring him down the long, dark passageway. Glancing around the narrow space with distrust, he wished he had thought to grab his magical drumsticks, or a butcher's knife from the kitchen, to protect himself from...well, he didn't know what from. This was an ancient castle, for crying out loud, and everyone knew ancient castles housed either ghosts, hobgoblins, or...  
  
...or Black Queens.  
  
Thoughts of Sarina were the only thing that propelled Roger down that passageway, his fingertips skimming the stone walls before he finally turned the corner. His eyes widened as his gaze wildly raked the room, taking in every magnificent detail. The gigantic stained glass window, the peaceful little wooden bench, the timeless quality of the rounded stone wall...  
  
It was the most charming elderly chapel Roger had ever seen and there, standing before the stained glass window, was one of the most maddening enemies he had ever known.  
  
The Black Queen didn't turn around and Roger guessed that he was so tangled within his own thoughts that he didn't realize he wasn't alone.  
  
This notion was confirmed by the Black Queen's face, which Roger could see reflected in the window. Indeed he didn't realize Roger was there, for his eyes were lowered as his fingers tightly gripped the windowsill.   
  
The paranoia that had recently faded from Roger's soul unexpectedly flared at the very sight of the Black Queen and Roger's upper lip curled as he gazed upon the monster that had taken one of his very best friends. He watched with smug satisfaction as the Black Queen's face crumbled.  
  
That is, until the Black Queen lifted his empty eyes to stare at his own reflection. As red water rimmed those eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment, the Black Queen's lower lip trembled dangerously and finally, a tear slid down his cheek, leaving a trail of blood behind.  
  
Roger felt an uncomfortable sensation in his chest. He prodded at his heart in alarm before he realized he was feeling pity.  
  
Because he had seen that exact same expression once before...  
  
 _Young dreamers, that's what they had been the night they had left home in a battered old wagon that belonged to Brian's father. They had loaded the wagon with band equipment, kissed their mothers goodbye, and rolled out of town to seek their fortunes as musicians elsewhere.  
_  
 _Except, they weren't getting very far, thanks to Freddie's overbearing compassion. He was, for reasons unknown to Roger, very concerned about the horse (a dappled white and brown mare Freddie had christened Tiffany) and had demanded Brian stop the wagon no less than five times to make sure Tiffany wasn't thirsty, hungry, tired, frightened, or emotionally constipated.  
_  
 _When Brian stopped the wagon for a sixth time, Roger had poked his head out from the canvas covering overhead and exclaimed, "No! Absolutely not! She's a_ horse, _Freddie, not your first born child, and I'm telling you right now that - "  
_  
 _"Actually, I asked Brian to stop," a quiet voice said. Roger turned in surprise to see the newest member of their band, Deaky, ducking his head in apology.  
_  
 _"Oh," Roger said, his temper fading as he sat back down. "Carry on then."  
_  
 _"I'll only be a moment," Deaky promised, before he climbed out of the wagon and disappeared.  
_  
 _Freddie, of course, took this opportunity to saunter over to Tiffany to have a heart to heart.  
_  
 _"Poor sweet darling, did Roger scare you with his scary voice and unfounded accusations? Don't you worry about a thing, my dear..."  
_  
 _Roger rolled his eyes, dug his elbows into his knees, and rested his chin in his hands.  
_  
 _After ten minutes had passed, he turned to Brian and sighed. "Deaky could have warned us he needed to take the longest piss known to man."  
_  
 _Brian peered around the edge of the wagon's canvas. "I don't think that's what he's doing, Rog."  
_  
 _Roger stuck his head back out into the night air to find Brian was right. Instead of finding any number of eligible piss trees, Roger saw a meadow that was flatter than Brian's arse, with tiny tombstones poking up between overgrown tufts of grass.  
_  
 _As something howled in the distance, Roger slowly retreated back under the safety of the canvas cover, as if he could hide from the bright, full moon that was guarding the isolated graveyard.  
_  
 _"Perhaps you should go rescue him," he whispered.  
_  
 _Brian frowned. "From what?"  
_  
 _Roger fidgeted nervously with his drumsticks. "Oh, you know. Ghosts. Werewolves. Demons."  
_  
 _"Roger, you know as well as I that one arched eyebrow from Deaky would make any self respecting demon retreat to the nearest gate to hell," Brian pointed out logically. "The only thing he would ever possibly need to be rescued from is his own grief."  
_  
 _Roger huffed in silence, throwing one last suspicious glance at the graveyard, before his attention was pulled away by the soft sound of Freddie singing to the horse.  
_  
 _"You're the best friend that I ever had..."  
_  
 _"Glad to know I'm so easily replaceable!" Roger said loudly as the corner of Brian's mouth twitched in amusement.  
_  
 _Roger decided he had officially had enough when Brian reached for his guitar and began to strum along, assisting Freddie in serenading the horse.  
_  
_"That's it," he said as he slid out of the wagon. "I'm going to find him."  
_  
 _Brian shrugged. "Suit yourself."  
_  
 _Muttering to himself, Roger marched towards the graveyard. The air was heavy with humidity and thick with the sound of chirping crickets and he wouldn't be one bit surprised if he ran into the most hideous of monsters here in this deserted burial ground in the middle of nowhere...  
_  
 _Roger stopped short as he saw, in the distance, a tall figure illuminated by the moon.  
_  
 _His fingers tightened on his drumsticks, prepared to fight if need be. If any demon witchy werewolves wanted to abduct Deaky, they'd have to go through him first! But when the moonlight showed Roger long legs and wavy brown hair, he relaxed, pocketed his sticks, and quietly made his way towards the bassist.  
_  
 _At the sound of Roger's footsteps, Deaky turned. His expression was impassive; refusing to reveal even the smallest clue to explain why he had been standing in this dark graveyard for almost fifteen minutes.  
_  
 _"Just wanted to make sure you didn't fall into a grave," Roger remarked, before his eyes fell on the inscription of the tombstone Deaky had been gazing upon.  
_  
 _Arthur Deacon. Deaky's dad.  
_  
 _Roger's stomach heaved uncomfortably as he remembered Brian's words.  
_  
The only thing he would ever possibly need to be rescued from is his own grief.  
  
 _Scratching his head, Roger stared at the ground, unsure of what to say. He barely knew anything abut grief. He had never had to console anyone other than himself.  
_  
 _Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Deaky turn back to his dad's final resting place, his arms wound tightly around himself as he bowed his head.  
_  
 _Anxiety prodded Roger over and over again in the gut; he couldn't just stand there, but at the same time, he couldn't bring himself to leave. And so, he did the first thing that popped into his mind. He stepped forward and awkwardly patted the bassist's shoulder.  
_  
 _Deaky turned slightly in surprise. A muscle in his cheek twitched, and his upper lip curled slightly, before he finally gave up the fight and allowed his mask to melt away. Roger was left staring into lost gray eyes, rimmed with moisture that was threatening to spill over at any moment as Deaky's lower lip trembled dangerously and finally, a tear slid down his cheek, leaving a trail of shining wetness behind.  
_  
 _Feeling as if his heart was being used as a punching bag, Roger stepped forward and embraced him.  
_  
 _As Freddie sang to his horse in the distance, and as the moon kept watch in a dark sky, Deaky dropped his face into Roger's shoulder and let out a single, heart wrenching sob.  
  
His tears soaked Roger's shoulder, sowing the seeds of brotherhood.  
_  
The memory settled in Roger's stomach, heavy as a stone, as it began to unravel the chains of paranoia that had held his heart captive for so long. The memory forced him to open his eyes and see, for the first time in two years, that his best friend wasn't gone. His best friend was right there in front of him and had been all along.  
  
This truly was Deaky.  
  
Roger crept forward, suddenly feeling very shy. When Deaky didn't move, Roger wondered if perhaps he should just turn away and leave him be; perhaps they could have a nice chat later.  
  
But he had heard Ronnie's last words as he had tried to break down the dining room door, the ones that had told Deaky he should have let her die rather than subject her to a pregnancy that would make her village hate her. Roger knew if Sarina had told him as much, he would have been out of his mind with sadness. And he knew he wouldn't want to be alone.  
  
Very slowly and very carefully, Roger approached Deaky from behind and put his arms around him.  
  
Deaky stiffened, likely wondering if Roger was taking advantage of his moment of weakness to attack.  
  
Roger patted Deaky's shoulder reassuringly. "Just wanted to make sure you didn't fall into a grave."  
  
Deaky's eyes widened as the memory of that night in the graveyard resurfaced; was it possible this was the old Roger he had known before? Surely Paranoid Roger wouldn't have said something so nostalgic...  
  
Safe in this knowledge, Deaky bowed his head and let out a single sob as he clasped Roger's hand, which were somewhere near his heart.  
  
As Roger quietly held his _friend,_ who was succeeding quite brilliantly in succumbing to absolute misery, he wracked his brain for ways to make him forget about this bloody travesty of a day.   
  
The answer came to him easily, because it was something that Roger had turned to time and time again to wash away the bad taste of terrible days like today.  
  
A trip to the wine cellar was in order.


	16. Chapter 16

That night, Ronnie decided to indulge in stories that were even more dysfunctional than her own sad tale.  
  
As she tossed _Grimms' Fairy Tales_ upon the black velvet coverlet and crawled onto the bed after it, she let out a weary sigh. Yes, _Grimms'_ would deliver dysfunction in spades.  
  
And after all, she had to do something to distract herself from the thoughts of John that were threatening to engulf her. She had to drown out the sound of his words from that morning...  
  
 _Who wants to live forever? When love must die!_  
  
Her toes unwittingly curled at the very memory. Squeezing her eyes shut, Ronnie shook the words from her head before she opened the book.  
  
As she studied the table of contents, searching for a fairy tale to match her mood (the more horrifying, the better, as far as she was concerned), she noticed a brown stem protruding from the center of the book. With a curious frown, she worked her fingers between the pages and opened them to the bookmarked story, only to find...  
  
....John's leaf.  
  
The leaf with five identically pointed corners. The leaf that was once splashed with red, orange, and gold, but was now curling in on itself with age. The leaf John had presented to her after she had unintentionally destroyed her own when he fell into her.   
  
Ronnie recalled the night John had given her the leaf, how she had stuck it between the pages of _Grimms'_ to keep it safe. Now, she glanced down to see which fairy tale the leaf had been guarding for all these months and felt her blood run cold.  
  
Sleeping Beauty.  
  
As Ronnie sat frozen, unable to move and unwilling to think, her eyes slowly rose to settle on John's bass guitar, still in the corner of the room that had once been his. As if in a trance, she allowed the book to slip from her fingers and fall to the ground with a heavy thud. The leaf fluttered down to join it.  
  
The smallest of movements in her belly zapped Ronnie back to her senses and she remembered Sleeping Beauty in her bed and the king with his hot blood. With a mounting feeling of horror, she recalled how the king had taken advantage of Sleeping Beauty while she slept and when she had awoke, she had borne twins, and...  
  
 _It's not the same,_ Ronnie firmly told herself.  
  
 _Isn't it though?_ A voice from deep within challenged her. _John sat in this very bed and held you in his arms while you were unconscious, and when you woke, you were pregnant with his child..._  
  
Ronnie grit her teeth. _It's not the same!_  
  
The sound of the door creaking open tore her gaze away from the bass. With a frown, she watched as a wet black nose appeared and curiously sniffed the air. Moments later, a panache of brown fluff on four tiny legs wandered into her room.  
  
Right on cue, Freddie's voice (well saturated with concern) echoed through the hallway. "Brighton! Oh, Brighton, darling! Come out, come out, wherever you are!"  
  
Ronnie wasn't one bit surprised when he poked his head into the room and asked urgently, "Darling, have you seen an adorable little brown badger, about ye high and..."  
  
She nodded towards the ground, where Brighton was busy claiming John's leaf as a delightful snack. He could have it, Ronnie thought bitterly to herself, and good riddance to it.  
  
Freddie stepped fully into the room, folded his arms, and leaned over to scold the badger. "There you are, darling! I've been searching for you for _ages_ and we've all been worried _sick_... "  
  
Ronnie leaned back on one hand and arched her eyebrow suspiciously. "You've never been particularly concerned about Brighton's whereabouts before tonight."  
  
Freddie lifted his nose indignantly into the air, before he sighed and hung his head. "You got me, darling. I didn't think you'd let me in the room, otherwise."  
  
He had a valid point there; after all, it had been John's honor he had steadfastly defended in the entryway that morning, not hers.  
  
"I'm sorry, darling," Freddie said sadly. "Truly I am."  
  
Ronnie bowed her head and with an almost imperceptible nod, granted him access to her room.  
  
Freddie placed a palm flat against the door and gave it a good shove. However, it wasn't good enough; the door lost momentum before it could fully close. It only remained open an inch, but even so, Ronnie narrowed her eyes at it.  
  
But Freddie was already roaming the room, lost in his dramatic monologue.  
  
"Oh, how wrong could we be! Darling, I realize now that we should have told you right away that there was a chance you were pregnant. But Deaky had been relatively certain he had cast the Illness Cure Spell successfully and we didn't want you to fret unnecessarily! So we watched you for three bloody months, with every intention of telling you about it if you happened to show any signs..."  
  
"Yes, well," Ronnie said in a low voice. "Pregnancy signs apparently aren't always obvious. And for three _bloody_ months, I had no idea what was happening to me!"   
  
"Why didn't you tell us you weren't feeling well, darling?"  
  
"Because I didn't want to worry...erm, anyone..." Suddenly very uncomfortable, she shifted her gaze away from Freddie's intense stare.  
  
"You mean you didn't want to worry Deaky?" Freddie guessed.  
  
Ronnie stared out the window at the delicate crescent moon, not realizing she was confirming Freddie's suspicions with her silence.  
  
"From the earth below to the heavens above," Freddie said softly. "That's how far and funny is love."  
  
Ronnie shook her head. "Freddie, I don't love him."  
  
"Nonsense, darling."  
  
"I don't!" Ronnie countered.  
  
Freddie snorted. "I don't believe you!"   
  
"I never loved him!"  
  
"Really," Freddie said casually as he examined his freshly painted black fingernails. "I didn't think _friends_ kissed in dark candlelit hallways."  
  
Ronnie bit her lip uncertainly. "Well..."  
  
"And do _friends_ roll around in freshly fallen snow together?"  
  
Ronnie groaned. "Freddie..."  
  
Freddie grasped her wrist and held up her left hand triumphantly. "And do you always wear your _friend's_ ring on the finger reserved for your wedding band?"  
  
Ronnie snatched her hand away. "I was only doing what you all wanted me to do! I was only getting close to him to trust him enough to break the curse!"  
  
Freddie was shaking his head, but Ronnie plowed on mercilessly.  
  
"And after I broke the curse, I would have given him his ring back, I would have begun to distance myself from him, I would have made sure things went back to the way they were before!"  
  
Sympathy glinted in Freddie's dark brown eyes. "Is that what you've been telling yourself, my dear? To protect yourself from the truth?"  
  
"What truth?" Ronnie whispered.  
  
"That he wasn't honest with you!" Freddie said quietly. "I don't think you can face the fact that another man has disappointed you."  
  
Ronnie kept her face very still, lest it betray her inner truth. "No, Freddie. I'm telling myself that because it's true. I didn't love him. I _pitied_ him!"  
  
An excruciating silence followed, once that lasted at least twenty seconds, before Freddie finally folded his arms and fixed her with an unnerving stare. "Now who's the liar?"  
  
Ronnie flinched, as if she had been slapped. "How dare you..."  
  
"I can prove that you love Deaky!" Freddie said, his voice ringing with determination. "You...you enjoy spending time with him, don't you?"  
  
"Yes," Ronnie agreed, "but I also enjoy spending time with Brighton. That doesn't mean I'm in love with Brian's badger."  
  
Freddie glanced down at the small badger, who was trying to bat tiny leaf fragments from his whiskers. "Touche, darling," he said, before he tried once more. "But surely you want what's best for Deaky."  
  
"I want what's best for you, too," Ronnie said quietly.  
  
Freddie tapped his chin thoughtfully, before his face slowly broke into a small victorious smile. "He's the first thing you think about when you wake in the morning. And he's the last thing you think about before you go to sleep at night."  
  
Ronnie opened her mouth to argue but dropped her gaze to the dark velvet blankets beneath her as she realized she really couldn't defend herself against such an accusation. There was no one else in the castle she thought about quite as much.  
  
Moments later, she felt the bed sink under Freddie's weight. "Tell me, darling, do you believe in Prince Charmings?"  
  
"Are you going to tell me they don't exist?" Ronnie asked flatly. It wouldn't have been the first time. Valentino had told her as much.  
  
"No, darling," Freddie said gently. "Because I believe they _do_ exist, just not in the way you've always envisioned. They're flawed. They're human. They have regrets. And just because they aren't perfect shouldn't make them any less of a prince in your eyes."  
  
Ronnie looked up into Freddie's sincere face, feeling the fight slowly leaving her body.  
  
Freddie took her hand. "You have no idea how badly he wanted to tell you the truth, darling. He was just waiting until he could do so with his own voice."  
  
"You mean...?"  
  
"Yes, my dear. He was going to tell you last night, after you broke the curse."  
  
"So he...he didn't do it on purpose?" Ronnie's voice was merely a whisper, riding high on the wings of doubt.  
  
"Of course not!" Freddie said staunchly. "But that's why you must go to him, darling. He's the only one who can explain to you what truly happened that night."  
  
And with one last pat of her hand, Freddie scooped Brighton off the pages of _Grimms'_ and carried him to the door.  
  
He looked back only once, his eyes brimming with meaning. "Sometimes love dares you to care for the people on the edge of the night, darling."  
  
Although Ronnie nodded that she understood, she curled herself into a tight ball after Freddie had left and wondered how she was ever going to find the courage to venture to the edge of the night.  
  
\---  
  
A blizzard was coming.  
  
As John lounged in the armchair by the open window of his bedroom, his heels resting on the stone sill and his arms crossed against his chest, he could smell the sharp chill in the air and feel the cool wind as it offered him tiny snowflakes.  
  
At least it was keeping his vodka cold.  
  
Not that he'd actually consumed any of it. Though Roger had offered him a drink that morning, John had politely refused. That is, until he had walked past Ronnie's room earlier in the evening....  
  
 _Though he wasn't feeling particularly social, John had spent the better part of the afternoon pacing the first floor of the castle, hoping to encounter Ronnie so that he could lead her to the library and explain himself by pen and parchment._ _And when she hadn't emerged from her room, he had given up, pulling himself numbly up the stairs.  
  
After passing her room, he had one foot on the bottom step of the turret staircase when he heard it.   
_  
_"Freddie, I don't love him."  
_  
 _John's hand tightened on the banister.  
_  
 _Freddie's voice in response was dismissive and unconcerned. "Nonsense, darling."  
_  
 _"I don't!"  
_  
 _"I don't believe you!"  
_  
 _"I never loved him!"  
_  
 _John didn't hear much of what followed; he was too busy trying to convince himself that this conversation wasn't about him, when he knew very well that it was._ _He closed his eyes tightly and pressed a hand against his chest, as if he could hide his roiling heart, but Ronnie's bitter voice found it anyway.  
_  
 _"I was only doing what you all wanted me to do! I was only getting close to him to trust him enough to break the curse! And after I broke that curse, I would have given him his ring back, I would have begun to distance myself from him, I would have made sure things went back to the way they were before!"  
_  
 _John's eyes slowly opened, his gaze fixed on the stairs but not quite seeing them.  
_  
 _"I didn't love him. I pitied him!"  
_  
 _Feeling his lip curling in resentment, John shoved Ronnie's poisonous declaration away, running away from her words and down the hall to Roger's room.  
  
That's when he finally allowed the drummer to bring him to the wine cellar. _  
  
Now, the gargantuan crystalline bottle of vodka sat upon the windowsill, untouched. John had observed it without emotion; he didn't feel he needed it quite yet because Ronnie's words were still safely stored in the back of his mind, where he could stubbornly pretend they weren't real. He hadn't allowed them to sink into his consciousness yet.  
  
And he wouldn't _ever_ allow that! He hadn't let Ronnie's confession follow him to the wine cellar; he had closed his bedroom door against it, leaving it outside on the turret staircase where it couldn't hurt him.  
  
John's fingers twitched on the arm of the chair. How he longed to uncork the vodka bottle. But he had promised Ronnie, on Christmas Eve...  
  
That was all it took. That one memory of holding her in the dimness of the hall while a gentle snow fell outside and Anita's lovely voice sang about dreams coming true, and the way Ronnie had bravely brushed her lips against his. At the time, he had thought she had been giving him permission to kiss her, but she had only been toying with him...  
  
And that's when Ronnie's words finally invaded. They slipped through the crack under the door, slithered across the floor, and began to wrap themselves around John's legs, like constricting vines.   
  
_Freddie, I don't love him. I never loved him!_  
  
John grit his teeth against the power of those words. He couldn't let himself feel the impact of her confession; if he wasn't careful, he'd activate his magic...  
  
 _I didn't love him. I pitied him!_  
  
He tried to fight the encroaching emotions with scientific logic before he gave up, because there was absolutely nothing logical about his situation and the explanation of broken hearts went well beyond the realms of science.  
  
Ronnie's words worked their way up from his legs to his torso and sunk their fangs into his already mangled heart. The result was a conflagration of anguish deep in his belly, an emotional firestorm that caused the small flames in the hearth to roar to life.  
  
John snatched the bottle of vodka with trembling fingers. As far as he was concerned, his promise to Ronnie was null and void. The way in which she had so easily and remorselessly played with his heart and her declaration of unlove had freed him from that promise.  
  
He didn't owe her anything.  
  
John uncorked the bottle and brought it to his lips, taking a deep swig. He slowly ran his tongue over his teeth, tasting the alcohol as his sharp, pointed fangs pierced his tongue, drawing blood.  
  
When the bottle was half consumed, he waited patiently for his monstrous transformation, finding he wasn't all that concerned about it. After all, he was already a monster, wasn't he? A monster who would sit here for all of time, trapped in an impossible curse and burning in his own magic. At least he wouldn't be completely alone; at least he had the moon to cry with and the stars to drink with.  
  
As the alcohol began to gradually numb John's turbulent feelings, he sighed and stared out into the night.  
  
There was nothing quite like a broken heart, was there?  
  
\---  
  
Ronnie leaned her head against John's bedroom door, her fist raised in the air, poised to knock.  
  
Three minutes had passed and she hadn't been able to bring herself to do it. After their volatile encounter in the entryway that morning, she wasn't sure if she was prepared for the emotions she might see misting in his eyes, or the tragic story that would be so clearly written across his face.  
  
But she was here to get answers. She was here to begin the process of forgiveness.  
  
Before she could stop herself, she knocked loudly on the door.  
  
There was no answer.  
  
Adorning a cloak of determination she hadn't known she possessed, Ronnie knocked again. "John?"  
  
The sound of glass breaking within sent a chill down Ronnie's spine. Without hesitating, she opened the door just enough to peer inside.  
  
The small, rounded tower was stifling thanks to a fire in the small, curved hearth set into the stone wall. John was bent over, leaning heavily against the mantle, his silhouette black against the bright yellow flames. The fingers of his right hand gripped the stone edge as he circled his left arm around his midsection, his hair hiding his face.  
  
Flinging open the door, Ronnie ran to him. She felt like she was moving in slow motion because the air was so thick with humidity but she didn't stop until she was standing before him.  
  
She placed gentle hands on his shoulders and whispered, "John?"  
  
He slowly gazed up at her, his white eyes positively unearthly in a pale face that was lined with pain.  
  
"John, what's wrong?" Ronnie asked, her voice rising in volume as her stomach twisted itself into knots of anxiety.  
  
John shook his head, making a visible effort to straighten up as he carefully masked his expression. But when another spasm of pain wracked his body, he lurched forward before he could stop himself, bumping into Ronnie and sending her reeling backwards.  
  
Even through his haze of pain, he reached out to her, though he stumbled himself and only succeeded in falling into the wall with her, his body pressed against hers as his palms pinned her hands to the stone.  
  
Ronnie blinked in surprise when, instead of moving away, he leaned his forehead against hers. Backed into the wall as she was, she was quite trapped and yet, she made no effort to escape. She stayed still as a statue as John slowly opened his eyes and bent his fingers, lacing them through her own as he held them against the roughness of the stone.  
  
She felt his body twitch before he began to tremble from head to toe. That, along with the harrowed look in his white eyes, were the indicators that something was happening to his body, which was being doused with a generous dose of physical pain.  
  
"John," she whispered, trying to bring him back to himself.  
  
He pulled his face away so that it was only inches away from hers. Very slowly, almost unsteadily, he lifted his right hand, still interlocked with her own, and brought their joined fingers towards her chin. He traced her bottom lip with the edge of his thumbnail before his voice filled the air, making itself known over the roar of the fire.  
  
 _Why did you deceive me?  
  
_ The overwhelming warmth in the room was making Ronnie sleepy, lulling her into a comforting trance. The softness of his black nail had soothed her even further into submission. She was, however, still alert enough to see an intense sadness prickling his eyes.  
  
She looked up at him helplessly. Had she deceived him?  
  
John closed his eyes against a fresh wave of pain, before he ran his knuckles down the curve of her cheek.  
  
 _You led me on_  
  
Ronnie furrowed her brows, struggling through the mist of her mind to remember if she had done any such thing. Her eyelids felt so heavy and her mind was retreating into a strange sort of hibernation; she feebly tried to untangle her fingers from his, but his own touch was doing something to her...   
  
She was just yielding entirely to the spell she was under when John's body jerked violently. She watched as he turned his head to look into the crooked oval mirror on the curved wall and, upon seeing his reflection, released her and hurried away.   
  
The Trance disappeared with him.  
  
\---  
  
John dropped to his knees before the fireplace, which was still housing flickering flames that were bright and hot. The terrible ache in his abdomen had spread down his limbs to inflict his entire body and he was beginning to feel very unlike himself.   
  
And evidently, he was starting to look less like himself, as well; when he had glanced in the mirror, he had seen he now possessed irises of fire.  
  
The spellbook's warning flashed through his mind.  
  
 _Cursed magic is of a different quality than natural magic and is known to be quite unpredictable. The consumption of alcohol can provoke an explosive reaction.  
  
_ If he was going to transform into something worse than what he already was, he didn't want Ronnie to see it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her pushing herself off the wall with a slightly dazed expression. When she approached him, he stopped her with an outstretched hand and projected his voice to her, loudly and clearly.  
  
 _Leave me alone_  
  
As Ronnie knelt before him, he squeezed his eyes shut so that she wouldn't see what had already transpired there.  
  
"I can't leave you like this," she insisted, tucking a lock of dark hair behind his ear. 

That gesture hurt, especially because he knew it was likely just _pity_. But he had worse pains to consider, like his heart, which was now burning dreadfully. He grasped at it, his fingers getting caught in a shirt that was damp and sticking to his skin.  
  
Ronnie pried his fingers away and hastily unbuttoned his shirt before she gasped.  
  
John made sure his head was bowed before he opened his eyes to see rivulets of black running from a curious dark mark over the left side of his chest, right over his heart. Mildly interested, he prodded a finger at it and tried to ascertain if the black liquid was blood.  
  
Ronnie pushed the heel of her hand against the mysterious wound, trying to stem the supposed bleeding. John knew he should have been making more of an effort to get her to leave, but a terribly powerful sense of longing was preventing him from doing just that. As he tried to cling to his last remaining shreds of humanity, he covered her hands with his and together, they held onto what was left of his heart.  
  
And knowing that he really shouldn't, that he would just be fueling an uncontrollable fire, he pulled Ronnie into his arms and twisted his fingers into her hair. He buried his face in her shoulder as his entire body convulsed and his stomached heaved upward to dance on the flames that were burning his soul.   
  
John knew this was the alcohol working it's own _magic_ and that any moment, it would consume him. He didn't know what he would be capable of after that happened, which meant he needed to get Ronnie to safety immediately.  
  
Yet how could he make her go? This would very likely be the last time he ever held her like this, the very last time he held her at all; after this moment was long gone, there would be no reason for him to hold someone who didn't love him in return. And with the way her fingers were curled tightly into his shirt, he could almost... _almost_...pretend that she felt the same...  
  
A deep ache shot through John's gums as he felt an unfamiliar sensation in his two front cuspids. He lifted his face and bared his teeth at the crescent moon that hung in the sky, watching him, as one last excruciating shudder of pain shook his body.  
  
And knowing he couldn't wait any longer, his voice told Ronnie, quite clearly...  
  
 _G-go on. Don't look back._  
  
\---  
  
Ronnie's eyes widened in alarm as John rocked back and forth in apparent agony, holding her tightly against him. As she tried to understand what was happening to him, her mind once more began to fight the oncoming fog of The Trance. Deep down, she knew there was something very unnatural about the way his proximity was affecting her, but she couldn't overcome the feeling of being held like this, of being wanted like this...it was _intoxicating..._  
  
She tried to center herself by inhaling deeply and thought she caught a whiff of something very distinct, though it was hard to tell with the hot scent of the fire dominating the air. Her eyes traveled along the floor, to the very edge of the throw rug, where shattered crystalline fragments lay scattered.  
  
John's disembodied voice was telling her to go, to not look back, but she ignored his warnings as she suddenly comprehended what was inflicting him.  
  
 _Vodka.  
  
_ So _that's_ why he was in all this pain, _that's_ why his body was failing him!  
  
"Oh John," she whispered. "John, you didn't!"  
  
Even as The Trance was slowly stripping her of all reasonable and conscious thoughts, the terrible throb of betrayal was beginning to spread through her chest. She was still painfully aware that he had withheld information about her potential pregnancy for an entire three months and now he had broken his promise, knowing how very much it meant to her...  
  
After wrestling with The Trance, she exclaimed, "You _promised_ me!" before she yanked herself away from him.  
  
Ronnie's mind cleared considerably as she came face to face with what she could only describe as a fallen angel. The being in front of her had John's soft and sweet features but they were now inextricably mixed with an arcane darkness she couldn't quite fathom. With a small inhalation of fear, she released him entirely and crawled backwards.  
  
His eyes were on fire. The pure whiteness had been replaced with wavering flames of red and orange that circled dense, black pupils, lending those eyes an uncharacteristic fierceness. Ronnie almost preferred the blank whiteness from before.  
  
And his cuspids, the second tooth on either side of his front teeth, were much longer than the rest of his pointed fangs, so long that they rested upon his lower lip. They were tinged black, as if they were heavy with a forbidden poison.  
  
And that's not all that was black. There was black liquid smeared beneath his eyes, like blotted ink. Snaking down the sides of his face were intense black sideburns that perfectly matched hair that had curled and frizzled into a tangled wild mass that billowed around his entire head.  
  
Ronnie slowly climbed to her feet and stared down at him as the fire began to hiss and the flames in the hearth shot higher to lick the brick innards of the chimney.  
  
As John rose to his feet, practically towering over her, he pointed towards the door and his voice told her for the second time that night, _Don't look back.  
  
_ Ronnie's stomach churned dangerously as she searched her mind for the spellbook's list of side effects that resulted from the combination of cursed magic and alcohol.

 _Abdominal pains, nausea and vomiting, irritability, malformed appearance, extreme personality changes, monstrous transformations...  
_  
John had already experienced an agonizing physical pain, a fiendish change in his appearance, and as for a personality change, well, the way he was glaring at her certainly didn't seem like him...  
  
Ronnie felt like she was flirting with danger just by staying in the turret; she had to leave and she didn't intend to come back. But there was one piece of unfinished business that she had to take care of before she could go.  
  
She knew now that a healthy relationship with John would never be possible, not with the lies, the broken promises, the beastly transformations, and the immediate peril. Blinking back tears, Ronnie twisted John's ring from her finger and grasped his wrist. She could feel magic boiling beneath his hot skin and as she pressed his ring into his palm, a fiery white pain shot through her fingers as his flesh burned her.  
  
And then so many things happened all at once.  
  
Ronnie cried out in pain and dropped his hand as she was completely blinded by the fire in the hearth, which had erupted into a powerful blaze. And then, as the dangerous wall of fire reached for her, shooting flaming fingers in her direction, John lunged at her, the force of his body knocking the breath from her lungs as he used his momentum to push her roughly from the fireplace.  
  
She hit the ground hard, rolling to a stop before she lifted herself onto her elbows and gazed up at John in disbelief, her eyes brimming with tears.  
  
As he crouched on the ground a few feet away, he opened his hand to reveal the ring she had returned to him. His bottomless pupils seared her from under darkly arched eyebrows as dots of black blood dotted his trembling lower lip, where his newly elongated cuspids had pierced him. His unbuttoned shirt revealed a chest that was heaving from the exertion of throwing her across the room and a steady steam of black still dripped from the strange wound over his heart.   
  
And that's when Ronnie realized that _this_ was his monstrous transformation. He wasn't a traditional monster, like a werewolf or a demon. No, lit against the backdrop of the fire, he was terrifying but at the same time, achingly beautiful and wasn't that the worst kind of a monster? One that was frightening but could still appear human enough to lure you in and...and...  
  
With a shudder, Ronnie knew then that this was the very being that was capable of destroying crops, frightening children, devouring virgins for breakfast, and sending cities into widespread panic.  
  
And to think that she had once dared to love someone on the edge of the night. That she had once loved the Black Queen.  
  
With a sob, Ronnie scrambled to her feet and ran from him.  
  
\---  
  
As Ronnie fled down the stairs, she nearly collided with Freddie, who was at the bottom of the staircase with one hand already on the carved face of the lion banister; it had clearly been his intention to investigate all the commotion.  
  
"You were wrong, Freddie," Ronnie whispered.  
  
"Now, darling," Freddie said, raising his eyebrows at the black blood stains on her shirt. "I'm going to need you to elaborate."  
  
Ronnie pushed past him, only whirling around at her bedroom door to add, "He is _not_ a Prince Charming! He will _never_ be Prince Charming! He is, and will always be, _the Black Queen!"  
_  
Practically diving into her room, Ronnie slammed the door shut and locked it. Wrenching open the closet door, she grabbed her pack and began to toss things into it, trying to ignore the blisters that were forming on her fingers and the feeling deep within that was coaxing her gently, inviting her to open her door and take the steps two at a time up to the turret and...  
  
 _No!_ she warned herself. _It's just The Trance...you must ignore The Trance!  
  
_ If she surrendered now, she'd never get herself back and she'd never get herself home.  
  
She let out a miserable sob as she shoved _Grimms'_ into her bag, knowing now that her own story would have been quite at home between it's weathered pages.  
  
That her own tale was officially the stuff of nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any thoughts on John's intentions at the end, please let me know! An attack by the beast within perhaps, as Ronnie is suspecting? Perhaps just a desperate attempt to save her life? I'd love to know how you perceived this chapter, because I've spent SO much time with it (last Thursday when I went to put the final touches on it, the chapter was gone and I had to rewrite the entire thing) and as a result, I'm having a very difficult time separating myself from it and seeing it from another point of view. Any feedback is wholeheartedly welcome!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading :) :)


	17. Chapter 17

Even though the fire was blazing hot, they would not leave him.  
  
No, Freddie and Roger remained huddled upon the floor with John as they waited for his beastly phase to pass. As John trembled and grit his teeth, Roger clung to the bassist's arm and Freddie briskly rubbed his back, muttering words of encouragement into his ear.  
  
Occasionally, Roger would swipe a wrist across his forehead, to wipe away beads of sweat. And every once in a while, Freddie would pluck his shirt away from his chest to allow his skin to breathe. But they never, ever left the fireside or their friend's side.  
  
Sarina sat cross-legged on John's bed, hugging her small medicine bag to her chest as she watched this touching display of camaraderie. She waited patiently; while she was there to tend to John's physical wounds, it was far more important that he was first taken care of in a spiritual sense.  
  
She wasn't surprised that Freddie was helping John through this crisis, but she found herself in complete awe that _Roger,_ of all people, was assisting him.  
  
Roger, who had suffered for two years from a paranoia-infused arrow wound. Roger, who had been trying to execute John when Sarina first met him. Roger, who never passed up an opportunity to torment the so-called Black Queen.  
  
What had changed?  
  
Eventually, the fire in the hearth died down to smolder on red coals and Sarina knew Freddie had succeeded in motivating John to conquer his magic. As he slung one of John's arms around his neck, and Roger did the same, Sarina slipped off the bed to make room for them.  
  
As John slumped against the pillows and looked up at her with those strange, fiery irises, Sarina offered him a kind smile. She was chilled to the core by his new features, but he didn't need to know that. What he needed to know was that he wasn't alone, so she patted his hand gently, before fully unbuttoning his shirt to expose the black, bleeding wound over his heart. Frowning at it, she dipped a clean cloth into a basin of warm water.  
  
John looked up at Freddie and raised his eyebrows in an attempt at communication. He needn't have bothered, because Freddie could thoroughly read minds once again.  
  
"She's all right, darling," Freddie assured him. "Brian and Anita are with her."  
  
Satisfied with the knowledge that Ronnie was safe, John closed his eyes, wincing as Sarina pressed the wet cloth against his chest wound.  
  
Roger tentatively leaned forward and prodded one of John's newly elongated fangs with his fingertip.  
  
"You grew these?" he asked, clearly impressed.  
  
The corner of John's mouth twitched in amusement.  
  
"But why are the tips black?" Roger wondered aloud.  
  
"The hell if I know, darling," Freddie muttered. _"You're_ the dentist."  
  
As Roger encouraged John to open his mouth wider so that he could have a look, Sarina smiled. What had changed indeed?  
  
"Might I suggest tooth decay?" Freddie said mildly. "An upside down cavity? Or..." His expression darkened. "An alcohol-induced transformation?"  
  
Roger scowled at the accusation in Freddie's eyes. "I didn't _know!_ If anyone had bothered to tell me a harmless drink was going to do this to Deaky, I wouldn't have offered him one!"  
  
Sarina rewet the cloth and once more pressed it firmly against John's wound. He hissed through his teeth in pain.  
  
Freddie raised an eyebrow at Roger as he asked in a hopeful voice, "Deaky? You mean to say he's no longer the Black Queen to you?"  
  
Roger dropped his gaze to his fingers, which were streaked with old blood from that morning. Sarina would later learn that Roger's pristine white handkerchief hadn't been able to withstand John's tears, which had soaked through the fabric to stain Roger's fingers with the incriminating evidence of John's misery.  
  
"No," Roger finally said. "He's...he's just Deaky."  
  
Freddie reached across the bed and clapped Roger companionably on the shoulder.  
  
Sarina tossed the cloth aside before she gently pulled John to a sitting position, forcing him to open his eyes. As a fascinated Roger tilted forward to peer into John's burning irises, Sarina pushed John's damp shirt down his shoulders. She wrapped a clean bandage around his chest, working quickly and carefully avoiding direct contact with his skin because it was so _hot.  
_  
As soon as she had finished, a black stain materialized on the bandage as his wound continued to bleed. She would have to monitor that closely.  
  
Freddie pushed Roger aside in order to fix John with a stern stare of his own, before he asked, "Why, darling?"  
  
John looked away. _I don't want to talk about it.  
_  
Freddie squinted, as if he were trying to see something that was too far away. "I need you to unblock that part of your mind this instant and tell me why you did this, when you were well aware of the consequences."  
  
John shook his head. _Want to forget about it._  
  
Though John wasn't looking at anyone in particular, Sarina could see the flames in John's eyes dancing dangerously. The burning coals in the hearth sparked in warning.  
  
Rising from the bed, Sarina took Freddie by the arm and led him away. As they passed through the doorway, they heard Roger ask curiously, "So...what did it feel like? To transform, I mean?"  
  
And John's terse response. _Fire burning in hell with the cry of screaming pain._  
  
After Sarina closed John's bedroom door behind them, she asked Freddie quietly, "You can't read in John's mind the reason he consumed the alcohol tonight?"  
  
Freddie sighed. "No. Don't let his shy nature fool you; Deaky can be as sly as a fox. He's learned to tuck away, into the very furthest corners of his mind, the things he doesn't want me to know."  
  
Sarina, feeling her heart ache on John's behalf, leaned against the banister to contemplate this.  
  
"Well, let the stubborn darling hide away, because I know exactly why he did it!" Freddie said, his voice low. "You don't need to read minds to know he did it because of all the ghastly things the White Queen said to him this morning in the entryway. I'm sure of it."  
  
"That may be so but Freddie, we can't judge Ronnie too harshly. She's afraid."  
  
"She has no reason to be," Freddie said flatly.  
  
Sarina shook her head. "I think she was truly falling in love with John. And from what Anita has told me, it took her a long time to shed her fear of him, especially after so many close calls."  
  
Freddie, never one to forgo eye contact, slowly dropped his gaze to the floor. How very uncomfortable it was to be reminded of the dark times, when they were all thriving on fear and very little hope.  
  
Sarina turned to the vocalist and gave him a meaningful look. "It's not just that she feels betrayed. And it's not just that she's afraid of what her village will say about her. She's _frightened_ again. Close encounters with fire are one thing, Freddie. But being impregnated so effortlessly...she's afraid of what John is capable of doing to her."  
  
Freddie considered her words thoughtfully before he finally looked her in the eye. "So what are you suggesting, darling?"  
  
"That we give them time," Sarina answered softly.   
  
Freddie nodded his assent but as she opened the door to return to John and Roger, he whispered to himself, "I'm afraid we're going to run out of time, my dear."  
  
\---  
  
The following morning, Ronnie stood in the doorway of the library and observed Brian as he stood by the tall window, using the gray light of day to read the giant book on stargazing that was balanced on his forearm. He was flipping through the pages with such an intense concentration that Ronnie almost hated to interrupt his fervent research. But before she went gallivanting through the woods, she had to ask him a very important question.  
  
"Brian, what time do you suppose the blizzard is going to start?"  
  
When Brian looked up and saw Ronnie standing before him, wrapped in her cloak, his face softened.  
  
He was no doubt remembering the night before. Ronnie's cheeks burned red with embarrassment as she tried not to think about it, but it was much too late for that.  
  
The memories were already there, taking her by the hand and reminding her how Brian and Anita had found her in her room, packing all of her belongings after her encounter with John. How they had pried her trembling, blistered fingers away from her traveling bag. How Anita had gently rubbed a salve on her fingers and dressed them with a bandage while Brian talked her out of leaving. How she had finally wept herself to sleep upon Brian's shoulder while Anita rubbed her back.  
  
She waited patiently as Brian peered out the window and gave her question a considerable amount of thought, squinting at the overcast sky and calculating at precisely which hour they could expect a whirlwind of snow.  
  
"It likely won't begin for another two to three hours," Brian replied, before he raised his eyebrows, clearly questioning why she was asking him about the weather whilst wearing her traveling cloak, after promising him she wouldn't leave.  
  
"I want to go for a walk," Ronnie said very quietly.  
  
Brian nodded as he put his book aside. "Just give me one moment to..."  
  
Ronnie quickly stepped into the room and put a hand on his arm. "I need to go by myself."  
  
"Ronnie, I..." Brian began uncertainly.  
  
"I'm not running away," Ronnie said quickly. "I gave you my word, Brian, and you can trust that. I just need a few moments to myself, away from the castle, to clear my mind."  
  
Brian hesitated, before he sighed. "All right. But only an hour, Ronnie. Storms are unpredictable; the blizzard may come sooner."  
  
Ronnie nodded her agreement. "One hour."  
  
Brian gave her a long look from under his dark brows. "And if you're not back in an hour, I'm coming to find you."  
  
Ronnie squeezed his arm. "I'll be back. I promise."  
  
As she hurried from the library and practically ran across the entryway, anticipating her blissful short hour of freedom, she nearly collided with Roger.  
  
"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" he demanded.  
  
Ronnie was already at the door before the words were out of Roger's mouth.  
  
"The northern woods," she called over her shoulder and then she was gone.  
  
\---  
  
In the past three months, Ronnie and John had explored almost every square inch of the vast forest that surrounded the castle. As a result, the woods were heavy with memories of him.   
  
There was the southern woods, where she had ridden cozily on Sarina's horse with John when he had first brought her, rife with illness, to the castle. There was the eastern woods, which led to the meadow with Lily and the other winged horses, where John had first flown her to the Frozen Rainbow. And there was the western woods; that was where she had cast Valentino's ring into the river while John watched over her.  
  
Ronnie wished she had something of John's to toss into that river, so she could forget about him, too.  
  
But that's precisely why the northern woods was the perfect place for her to clear her mind now; she had never ventured there before and there would be nothing there to remind her of him.   
  
Oh, there had been plenty of times she had _tried_ to go to the northern woods; there had been moments when she had felt drawn to that part of the forest, as if a magnetic force was trying to pull her in, but on the few occasions when she'd wandered towards it, John had always taken her gently by the hand and led her away.  
  
Now, as she stood at the entrance and traced her finger over the crude N that was carved into one of the larger trees, she defiantly thought to herself that he wouldn't be able to stop her.  
  
On first glance, the northern woods wasn't any different than the other sections of forest she had traversed through. The snow from the previous year was gone, thanks to the mild New Year they had experienced a few days before; the sound of crunching leaves and snapping twiglets filled Ronnie's ears as she traveled deeper and deeper into the trees, only stopping to look up through the branches at the sky. The clouds were even more pregnant than she was and would give birth to a storm in only a few hours time.  
  
A quarter of an hour later, a light snow began to fall. A cold wind howled through the trees and flurries filled the air, landing on Ronnie's cheeks and mingling with her tears.   
  
This so called healing excursion to the woods wasn't quite what she thought it would be. She had intended to strengthen her will, soothe her mind, and wrap her heart in protective chains. But instead, she found herself faced with one frightening realization.  
  
She loved John.   
  
Even though he had denied her the truth and even though he had broken his promise, she loved him. Even after he had shoved her across the room, she loved him still. And despite the fact that he was the Black Queen, she remained hopelessly in love with him. And that was very dangerous.  
  
The snow was falling heavier now and the wind was picking up speed; Ronnie was about to turn around and return to the castle when a disturbance in the air up ahead made her pause.  
  
Right before her very eyes, the snowflakes swirled into the shape of fingers, which beckoned to her. Ronnie looked over her shoulder, as if to verify that the snowflake fingers weren't signaling to someone behind her, but she was quite alone.  
  
With a frown, Ronnie did as the snowflake fingers asked and took three steps forward.  
  
The fingers turned and offered her the graceful curve of a palm made entirely of snowflakes.  
  
Ronnie lifted her arm before she hesitated. She had never encountered a snowflake hand before; it was almost like... _magic._ And at the moment, she didn't exactly trust magic.  
  
Not to mention the strange feeling that was spreading through her chest; it almost felt like the night before, when John's touch had brought the Trance upon her. Yet, this wasn't a numbing, sleepy sensation; this was a feeling of elation that was almost impossible to ignore.  
  
Something deep inside was urging her to take the snowflakes' hand, convincing her that there was nothing that she desired more.  
  
The wind blew her hair away from her face; it seemed to be whispering into her ear, _That's right. Come with us. After all, what's the hurry to get back to the castle? There's nothing waiting for you there but heartache._  
  
Ronnie frowned because there _was_ a reason she needed to go back to the castle, but she couldn't remember what it was. It was as if the wind had suddenly swept the impending blizzard from her mind.  
  
And so, having no reason not to, she put her hand in the snowflakes' and allowed herself to be pulled further into the northern woods.  
  
\---  
  
Roger was assisting Sarina with removing ornaments from the Christmas tree, while trying to appear cheerful about the otherwise disheartening task, when Freddie and John descended the staircase.  
  
Freddie looked around expectantly, his eyes brimming with hope. "I'm presuming the White Queen has graced you all with her presence this morning? Her bedroom door is open wider than..."  
  
Roger yawned as Sarina reverently placed a red glass bulb into the box he was holding. 

"...wider than a yawn by Roger, apparently," Freddie finished dryly. "Are we boring you, darling?"  
  
Roger ignored his friend's morning tartness; it was before ten, after all. "She said she was going for a walk in the northern woods."  
  
"Oh, how nice," Freddie remarked, at the same moment that John's eyes widened and he bolted for the small oval closet door at the far end of the entryway.  
  
Freddie watched in amazement as John fastened his cloak around his neck with fumbling fingers. "Wherever do you think you're going, darling?"  
  
John shook his head as he disappeared through the front door; the last they saw of him was his feet kicking up dead leaves as he ran across the courtyard to the stable.  
  
\---  
  
 _It had been two years ago when John had first met the mysterious man in the woods. The southern woods, to be exact.  
_  
 _He had come across him quite by accident and by the time he heard the unmistakable sound of a shovel upon dirt, it was too late to turn back. The risk of being seen was far too great. And so, John ducked behind a tree and decided to wait for the stranger to finish his business and be on his way.  
_  
 _As he crouched low, his thoughts turned to the beautiful schoolteacher who read to her schoolchildren every day; he had departed from her village two weeks before...or was it three? John couldn't be sure because the days were beginning to blend into each other; they all seemed exactly the same.  
_  
 _Sort of like the moments that were now passing him by. John impatiently peered around the tree to see if the digger was quite finished. The first thing he saw, however, was a dead tree with its branches stuck straight into the air, like arms, and he recoiled slightly at the ghastly face etched into the bark.  
_  
 _His attention was pulled from the tree by the digger himself, a young man dressed entirely in black leather. His black hair was cropped short, except for long bangs, which had been carefully styled away from his face. His eyes were a clear light blue - or were they a grayish green, like the sea John had recently dried up with his godforsaken magic? He couldn't be sure.  
_  
 _At least the man had pupils, John thought bitterly to himself.  
_  
 _The light of the dying sun streamed through the branches overhead, illuminating a heavy black book in the young man's hands, which were clad in fingerless gloves. As he traced the book's title with his fingers, John noticed that his fingernails were black. Though, unlike John's, they had been painted that way on purpose.  
_  
 _It reminded John of Freddie and his loneliness intensified._ _Fiercely pushing that loneliness away, John squinted and was able to make out the title of the book.  
_  
On Dark Magic and Forbidden Spells  
  
 _John's interest was piqued but the spellbook suddenly vanished as the young man placed it in a wooden box, lowered it into the hole he had dug, and covered it with dirt.  
_  
 _When he had finished, he dusted his hands off and said aloud, "I can see you, you know. Your eyes are glowing in the dusk."  
_  
 _John's heart began to hammer in his chest as he reached for his hood with trembling fingers, intending to hide his face. But hands on his own prevented him from doing any such thing.  
_  
 _The young man was standing over him, grasping his wrists, but his eyes were kind and his voice was soft as he asked, "You've been cursed by Trident, haven't you?"  
_  
 _John was so surprised by this statement that he let the hood fall from his fingers.  
_  
 _The young man nodded. "Slippery weasel, that Trident." And he helped John to his feet and clapped him on the shoulder while a thoughtful expression lingered on his face.  
_  
 _Well, listen," he finally said. "I'm fleeing."  
_  
 _John raised his eyebrows politely.  
_  
 _The man shook his shoulders uncomfortably, as if he were trying to dislodge something from his spine. "Yeah, I've got a dragon on my back. But you look like you could use a place to hide."  
_  
 _John stared at the man before he nodded slowly.  
_  
 _The man motioned over his shoulder. "Ten minutes that way you'll find my castle. Why don't you watch it for me 'til I come back?"  
_  
 _John's eyes widened before he nodded a bit more vigorously. If he was being honest with himself, he was rather tired of wandering through the woods aimlessly...  
_  
 _The man exhaled dramatically. "Right,_ if _I come back."  
_  
 _John folded his arms and narrowed his eyes at the man.  
_  
 _The man grinned. "I know. Seems to good to be true, right? How can you possibly trust me when you've just met me?"  
_  
 _John lifted his chin, indicating this was correct.  
_  
 _The man took John's hand and pressed a large iron wrought key into his palm. "Trident's no friend of mine. And you, if you don't mind me saying it, are clearly lost."  
_  
 _Realizing he really had nothing to lose, John tucked the key into his pocket and clasped the man's hand in thanks. But before John could pull away, the man tightened his grasp on John's fingers. "But one thing. You can't ever go into the northern woods."  
_  
 _Something in the man's voice made John's blood run cold.  
_  
 _The man's expression darkened, his eyes gleaming in the encroaching darkness. "And I'll tell you why. The northern woods is this freaky, cursed part of the forest. It will find out your deepest desire and show it to you, plain as day, like a mirage. And it makes it feel so real that you can't possibly resist it. It makes you feel like the charade is better than your reality; it makes sure that you won't ever want to leave. So you stay, while the mirage drags you under and slowly kills you."  
_  
 _John nodded that he understood.  
_  
 _"There's only one way to defeat it and that's knowledge," the man continued. "Knowledge that this is what the northern woods does, knowledge that it isn't real. That's the only way to come back from it. Unfortunately most people who wander in have no idea and can't fight it at all."  
_  
 _The man released John's hand, offered him a reassuring smile, and bid him a fond farewell.  
_  
 _As John walked away, in the direction of the castle, he heard the man shout to him over his shoulder.  
_  
 _"I mean it! Don't go into the northern woods!"_  
  
And yet, that's exactly what John was now doing.  
  
As he rode Sarina's horse through the fields, his heart thumped in time with the hoofbeats. He hadn't the faintest idea what Ronnie's deepest desire was, but that didn't really matter. Whatever it was, the northern woods would make it enticing enough to trap her within and Ronnie, having no knowledge of what was happening, would succumb quite willingly.  
  
When John reached the treeline, he slid off the back of the horse and tied the reins to a tree branch, figuring it wasn't safe to lead the horse into a cursed forest.  
  
It began to snow just as he dashed past a large oak tree that was carved clearly with the letter N.  
  
\---  
  
Everything began to change after the snowflakes' hand helped Ronnie over a fallen log.   
  
Her mouth fell open as she turned in a slow circle and gazed upon the true beauty of the northern woods. The deep brown and green of the forest had disappeared completely, replaced with trees of silver and white that shimmered in a sudden burst of sunlight. Wisps of ice draped the branches of the trees, like glorified spider webs, and the soft carpet of snow beneath her feet sparkled radiantly. It was almost as if the forest were...enchanted.  
  
As Ronnie sat upon a white glistening stump and dropped her chin into her hand in wonder, a figure appeared on the horizon. Ronnie knew she should have been on her guard, but she didn't feel afraid. She waited patiently, holding the snowflakes' hand as the hooded figure, cloaked entirely in white, approached her.  
  
He knelt before her and held out his right hand. Two rings, one circling the middle finger and the other clinging to his pinky finger, glinted in the sunlight.  
  
Ronnie frowned because there was only one other person who had rings like that, but this couldn't possibly be John. The fingernails weren't black; they were a shade of neutral, like her own...  
  
The snowflake fingers placed her hand gently in his. Very slowly, Ronnie reached up, pushed the hood away from the figure's face, and found herself staring into the eyes...the _actual_ eyes...of John.  
  
He smiled at her and Ronnie's heart did a tiny somersault in her chest.   
  
He didn't look like a Black Queen at all. His eyes were the loveliest shade of gray, the irises enclosing pupils of deep black. Brown eyebrows sloped softly over those gentle eyes, brows that matched the light brown of his hair, which framed his face and fell to his shoulders in waves. His skin held a natural, healthy glow; his lips were a delicate pink.   
  
Though, he now bit his lower lip uncertainly as she stared at him in awe and admired the endearing gap between his two front teeth; which were perfectly straight...  
  
"Hullo," he whispered, the first word she had ever heard come from his mouth.  
  
Something tugged at Ronnie's mind, like a warning, but she ignored it. She was confident she was safe because, as John held her hand in his, she couldn't feel the undercurrent of magic running through his veins.   
  
No, this John wasn't cursed, this John didn't harbor magic. This John wouldn't hurt her.  
  
Ronnie smiled at him in return.  
  
John let out a small exhale of relief before he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers.  
  
Another warning prodded at Ronnie's midsection, but that warning was drowned by the delirious feeling of happiness bubbling in her stomach. She had nothing to fear, she was safe, she was loved.  
  
There was nothing she had ever wanted more.  
  
John unfastened his white cloak, spread it upon the snow, and lowered Ronnie to the ground. As she ran her fingers through his hair and felt the warm sun on her skin, she sighed.  
  
She didn't ever want to leave.  
  
\---  
  
John had never felt so helpless.  
  
He had no voice, so he couldn't call Ronnie's name. And he had no sense of direction in these unfamiliar woods, so he didn't know where to even begin looking for her. And his endurance was failing him; his lungs burned as he came to an abrupt stop to lean against a tree and catch his breath.  
  
When he looked up, there was a man leaning against the tree across from his.  
  
Though John had never seen him before, he knew who he was. Tall, middle-aged, sad eyes, long wild hair, clutching a crown...Sarina's description of him had been accurate.  
  
And he was glowing.  
  
Very slowly, the ghost of Great King Rat released his hold on the crown in order to point to the left.  
  
John didn't hesitate. As the crown sunk into the freshly fallen snow, he nodded his thanks and ran in the direction Great King Rat had indicated.  
  
\---  
  
He found her deep within the heart of the forest, lying motionless on a cloak of pine branches in the snow.  
  
Falling to his knees beside her, John brushed fluffy flakes of snow from her face, his heart in his throat as he ran his fingers over her ice cold skin, her frozen eyelashes, her blue lips. He took her by the shoulders and shook her gently, he grasped her fingers and tried to knead his warmth into her hands.  
  
He had to do something more for her, this much he knew.  
  
John pushed his cloak back and unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his bare, bandaged chest to the wintry elements. Falling to the side, onto his hip, he gathered Ronnie in his arms, pressed her against his warm chest, and wrapped his shirt and his cloak around her.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he pressed his lips against her cold hair and tried to light the fire of life within her with his disembodied words.

 _Love of my life, don't leave me_  
 _You've stolen my love, you now desert me_  
  
As the wind shrieked above him and the snow nearly blinded him, he held her tightly, willing her to feel the heat of his skin through her own clothes. A tear slipped off his nose to stain the white snow with blood, evidence that he knew perfectly well that if this was where her light had been snuffed out, it was entirely his own fault.

 _Love of my life, can't you see?_  
 _Bring it back, bring it back_  
  
At that moment, it didn't matter that she didn't feel the same. She could return his ring to him, she could tell Freddie she pitied him, she could do whatever she pleased, but it would never, ever, change the way he felt about her.  
  
 _Don't take it away from me_  
 _Because you don't know what it means to me_  
  
And besides, the only thing he wanted from her was for her to live.  
  
John felt the weight of a hand on his arm; his eyes snapped open to find snowflake fingers gripping his elbow. He stared at them with wide eyes, wondering where they could have possibly come from, before the mysterious young man's voice reminded him.  
  
 _The northern woods is this freaky, cursed part of the forest._  
  
John tried to shake the snowflake fingers away, but they only clung to him tighter, squeezing almost painfully, until they released him in order to gesture to the north.   
  
Looking over his shoulder, John found only more trees and more snow. With a derisive snort, he turned back to glare at the snowflake hand, and was shocked to find the snow had stopped.  
  
He was still sitting on the pine branches, and he was still in the northern woods, but the sun was shining in a bright blue sky and there was movement in his arms...  
  
...and Ronnie was smiling up at him.  
  
Hope exploded somewhere in John's chest, like one of Queen's fancy pyrotechnic displays, and he watched with wonder as she gently kissed his chin, before nodding to the bundle in her arms.  
  
A small baby boy, swaddled in blue and fast asleep, lay against her breast. John felt himself falling in love all over again as the baby opened one gray eye, and then the other, and beamed innocently up at him.  
  
Ronnie laughed, the beautiful sound ringing through the trees as John marveled at his small family.  
  
But how could it be? Just moments before she was cold and still in his arms, and now she was bursting with life, and...  
  
That's when he remembered.  
  
 _It will find out your deepest desire and show it to you, plain as day, like a mirage. And it makes it feel so real that you can't possibly resist it._  
  
As he stared into Ronnie's eyes and traced the soft curve of her cheek with his thumb, he found it difficult to believe this _wasn't_ real. And as his baby boy wrapped tiny fingers around his pinky and held tight, he began to wish that it was.  
  
 _It makes you feel like the charade is better than your reality; it makes sure that you won't ever want to leave.  
_  
He could stay. It would be so easy to stay here with her, where she was alive, where she loved him, where they were a family. He could leave his wretched curse and all the painful memories that went along with it behind...  
  
 _So you stay, while the mirage drags you under and slowly kills you._  
  
Though this moment was what he wanted more than anything, John knew it couldn't be. If he didn't resist, not only would he die here, but Ronnie and their child would die, as well. If there was even the smallest chance that he could save their lives, he had to try.  
  
 _There's only one way to defeat it and that's knowledge...that this is what the northern woods does...that it isn't real..._  
  
Ronnie hadn't known about the enchantments of the northern woods and so she couldn't have fought back. But John could. He could fight for her...  
  
With one last wistful gaze at the woman and child in his arms, he closed his eyes and projected his hoarse voice out into the wilderness, one bitter, resounding _NO...  
_  
He knew it had worked when he felt a vicious wind whipping his face. He opened his eyes to see Ronnie once more cradled against his chest but this time, she showed signs of life.   
  
She was shivering.  
  
Knowing there was no time to lose, John helped her to a standing position, pulled her hood up over her head, and wrapped a firm arm around her. He led her through the blizzard, through the woods, away from the enchantments...  
  
...until he was obliged to carry her when she collapsed near the tree where he had met Great King Rat. And when they finally reached the treeline, he lifted her onto the horse's back, climbed on behind her, and wrapped them both with the blanket he had used as a saddle.  
  
They began the slow, tedious ride back to safety.  
  
\---  
  
Ronnie's heart sank with disappointment as she opened her eyes and realized the brilliant hues of the northern woods were gone. Instead of magnificent whites and startling silvers, there were dull browns and flat greens. And though she could barely make it out through the blizzard, an overwhelming sense of gray loomed in the distance; the castle, waiting to entrap her once more within it's walls.  
  
The sunlight was gone; a damp cold had seeped into her bones, even though she was wrapped in someone's cloak and pressed against the warmth of someone's chest...  
  
Someone's chest...  
  
Ronnie's heart inflated with hope. The wind was whipping the snow through the air at an alarming rate but still, Ronnie squinted against it as she looked up and saw a familiar jawline. Knowing she had to find out for sure if it was John from the northern woods, she carefully turned to the side and wound her arms around his neck.  
  
As he gently rested his chin on her shoulder, Ronnie felt the magic throbbing in his blood and knew she had left the John of her dreams far behind.  
  
That's when she released her tight hold on her hope and let it fly away on the wind, watching as it disappeared into the hazardous swirl of the blizzard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The identity of the mysterious young man will be revealed in the next few chapters (if you haven't already guessed that is!) :)


	18. Chapter 18

"Roger, you need to hold her a bit tighter than that."  
  
Roger frowned. "But I don't want to crush her."  
  
Sarina smiled. "I know, but the whole point is to warm her up and..." She took Roger's arms and wrapped them firmly around Ronnie's shivering body. "...you can't do that if you're treating her like a fragile bird."  
  
"Sometimes I think she _is_ a..." Freddie began, before he was interrupted by a warning swat from Anita.  
  
It had been exactly twenty minutes since Ronnie and John's return to the castle. Twenty minutes since multiple pairs of hands had reached up to her to gently help her off the horse. Twenty minutes since they had taken her away from John.  
  
And for twenty minutes, they had each taken a turn trying to warm her, to absolutely no avail. Though, as John leaned against the library's wood paneling with his arms crossed and observed them, he had to admit it was quite entertaining to watch them attempt what he knew only he could do.  
  
Anita and Sarina had tried first, hugging Ronnie tightly between them and pressing their warm cheeks against her cold face. When that hadn't worked, Freddie had plucked Ronnie from the "sweetly feminine embrace," in his exact words, and waltzed her vigorously around the room while encouraging her to break a sweat.  
  
And though her lips were no longer a concerning shade of blue and though the frost had melted from her eyelashes, still she shuddered.  
  
Brian had rubbed her hands briskly between his and whispered warm thoughts to her. "Imagine a vast desert, Ronnie, and the hot sun beating down on your face. There's sweat trickling down your back, and the sand is burning your feet..."  
  
And when this had failed, Roger had rolled his eyes while impatiently leading Ronnie as close to the fireplace as could be considered reasonably safe and looped his arms around her.  
  
As Ronnie's trembling frame shook his own body, he resorted to threats. "Ronnie, if you don't take my warmth and put it to good use, I swear I'll..."  
  
John glanced out the window to check on the progress of the storm, his calm expression betraying exactly zero of his thoughts. It was only a matter of time until they all realized that the solution was very near at hand.  
  
"R-roger, I'm t-trying!" Ronnie stammered, her words half an apology, half a frustrated hiss.  
  
At the sound of her trembling voice, John turned back to the fireplace and found Sarina gazing at him thoughtfully. Knowing exactly what she was thinking, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod of assent.  
  
\---  
  
As Brian ignored Roger's protests and pushed him out of the room, and Anita escorted an indignant Freddie from the library, Ronnie turned back to the fire and burrowed herself deeper into the blanket around her shoulders, her teeth chattering.  
  
There was the sound of the door closing and then Sarina appeared before her with a meaningful look. "I think I know exactly what will warm you up, but you need to trust me. Do you trust me, love?"  
  
That certainly sounded suspicious. Ronnie's brow furrowed in concern but even so, she nodded.  
  
With a satisfied smile, Sarina pushed down on Ronnie's shoulders, encouraging her to sink to her knees, before she removed Ronnie's warm blanket, leaving her clad in only a thin chemise.  
  
Ronnie wrapped her arms around her exposed body. As she gazed wistfully at her damp clothes, which were still drying by the fireside, she felt breath softly stirring her hair and that's when she realized there was a presence directly behind her.  
  
That's when she realized what Sarina intended to do.  
  
She looked up at Sarina with wide eyes and shook her head.  
  
"I know, love," Sarina whispered as she grasped Ronnie's hands; it was like holding blocks of ice. "But you lost so much body heat when you were lying unconscious in the woods. We need to warm you up before you catch hypothermia and he's the only one with skin hot enough to melt the chill from your bones."  
  
"But the f-fire," Ronnie whispered, all of her close encounters with flames flashing through her mind. John's magic burning her map, Brian pushing her out of the way as John's magic caused their campfire to explode, John's magic reaching for her from the fireplace the night before...  
  
Sarina sat upon the floor and faced Ronnie. "You know that his magic is governed by emotion, don't you, love?"  
  
Ronnie nodded reluctantly. Yes, this she knew.  
  
Sarina's eyes focused on something above Ronnie's head and she knew the gypsy was looking into John's eyes of fire.  
  
"His emotions are under control," Sarina confirmed.   
  
"Sarina, p-please..." Ronnie pleaded.  
  
Sarina leaned forward. "Do you remember what I told you all those months ago when I first met you, right before we parted ways at the town of Bijou?"   
  
Ronnie remembered that crisp September day well; it had been the day that Freddie had confronted her at the town's fountain and urged her not to judge a book by its cover.  
  
In other words, not to judge John by the stories she heard about the Black Queen.  
  
"Y-you said I had nothing to f-fear from him. Y-you had j-just read his p-palm." Ronnie's shivering was affecting her speech.   
  
Sarina nodded. "That's right. Would you like me to read his palm for you now?"  
  
Every since that day, when they had returned to the forest and Sarina had told her that traveling with John would be quite safe, Ronnie had wanted to know what Sarina had found in his palm. And so, curiosity now conquered fear as Ronnie whispered, "Yes."  
  
Sarina nodded at John. Ronnie felt a moan of protest rumbling deep within her throat as his hands grasped her waist; her entire body went rigid as he placed her upon his thighs. She couldn't see him; her back was to him, but his body heat was already gently searing her bottom.  
  
There was an awkward pause as John's arms hovered near her rounded stomach, trying to figure out how to hold her without touching her _there._ Sarina took charge by wrapping John's arms completely around Ronnie's upper body, before she pressed Ronnie back against John's bare chest.   
  
Ronnie gasped as he enveloped her in his (very) warm embrace. His skin wasn't scorching hot like the night before, but it was still unusually warm. As his heat invaded her senses, she stopped shivering, but that strange, sedating feeling from the night before began to slowly steal over her.  
  
 _The Trance,_ she thought to herself.  
  
Sarina lifted Ronnie's hands from her lap and said quietly to John, "Your palm, please."  
  
Without releasing his hold on Ronnie, John lifted his right hand. Sarina placed it palm-up into Ronnie's cupped hands. His long fingers radiated a feverish warmth into her own palms.  
  
"I was trying to get a sense of his personality that day," Sarina began, "to see if you could trust him. The first thing I noticed were his fingers. He has very long fingers, which is representative of the element water. This indicated that he was perceptive, sympathetic, quiet..."  
  
Ronnie felt John's hair tickle her cheek and that's how she knew he was looking over her shoulder to observe his own palm reading.  
  
Sarina then discussed the various lines on John's palm, tracing them each in turn. "I then saw that his fate line breaks and changes direction, which means he's prone to changes in life from external forces. His head line is long and deep, which indicates clear and focused thinking. The life line is straight and close to the edge of the palm; this means he's cautious when it comes to relationships..."  
  
Sarina's face softened. "And you see here, how his heart line touches his life line? This reveals a heart that breaks easily."  
  
John's fingers twitched.  
  
Sarina ran Ronnie's forefinger over John's heart line. "When I read his palm that day in the forest, I could tell that external forces - Trident and the curse, if you will - had broken the heart of this quiet, perceptive individual - yet he had retained a clear and focused mind. Though cautious about relationships, he was sympathetic towards your plight and wished to assist you in your journey."  
  
Ronnie closed her eyes. If someone had traveled back in time to that day and told her that, in only a few months' time, she would be sitting upon the Black Queen's lap while wearing nothing but her chemise, enfolded in his arms while he offered her his heat and she tried desperately not to love him, she would have never believed it.  
  
She almost didn't believe it now, though she couldn't exactly trust her mind at the moment; the fog of the Trance was beginning to cloud her judgement and drag her into the lurking depths beneath waking consciousness.  
  
"Ronnie," Sarina whispered. "I knew that day that this wasn't the palm of a monster. This wasn't the palm of someone you needed to fear."  
  
Instinctively, Ronnie touched the angry, red scrape on her forearm, which was the result of being shoved to the floor by John the night before.  
  
That's when she felt John's entire body stiffen.   
  
\---  
  
John had seen her wound. And Sarina knew the fact that it was just a superficial scratch wouldn't make it hurt him any less.  
  
She, unlike Freddie, couldn't read John's mind and so she didn't know what had transpired between John and Ronnie the night before. Thus, she couldn't provide John with simple reassurances and she couldn't soothe Ronnie's aching mind with explanations; the only person who could do that was John himself.  
  
Sarina gently guided Ronnie's hand away from her abrasion and tucked her fingers into the safety of John's hand.  
  
"One day, John will explain everything to you," she said softly. "The pregnancy, why he drank last night, and what happened after. But until he's ready to do that, just think about his palm and know that, no matter how frightening his actions, they're never intended to hurt you."  
  
Ronnie nodded slowly; it appeared she was beginning to fall asleep and so, Sarina gave John an encouraging smile before she gracefully climbed to her feet and tiptoed towards the door. As she placed her hand on the doorknob, she looked back one last time.  
  
It was as if they were one being, one entity, one love.  
  
John's heat had drained the tension from Ronnie's body; she almost seemed to sink into his lap in surrender. He leaned forward, his shoulders hunched against hers, his chest perfectly molded to the curve of her spine as he held her right hand and used his left arm to hold her close to him, his forearm defiantly resting against the small curve of her baby bump.  
  
 _It shouldn't be like this,_ Sarina thought to herself. _They should be entwined willingly in each other's arms, surrounded by laughter, protecting each other from the sound of the howling wind that's rattling these old windowpanes._  
  
The storm should have been outside in the wilderness, not inside their hearts.  
  
John's mouth was moving, though no sound came out. Sarina titled her head to decipher what he was trying to say and her heart sank as she made out the words he was mouthing into Ronnie's ear over and over again.  
  
 _I'm sorry._

_I'm sorry._

_I'm so terribly sorry._  
  
 **Two Days Later  
**  
It was rather late at night for dinner, yet here they all were. It being Roger's turn to provide them with a hearty meal, and there having been many apparent complications with the oven, and the souffle having been burnt to a crisp the first time, and stolen by Delilah the second time, they had finally sat down to supper at precisely 11 o'clock.  
  
The result was a rather dark and somnolent affair. Candles flickered in the shadows, the soft clink of silverware floated eerily through the dining room, and Roger sleepily jabbed at his souffle as he yawned for the seventh time in only two minutes.  
  
The silence had lulled Ronnie into the comfort of her own thoughts. She welcomed the escape; she needed to be distracted from the fact that John was sitting to her left, and the realization that the occupants of the castle had been purposefully sitting her next to him at every meal, and...  
  
Freddie cleared his throat loudly. Ronnie jumped and dropped her fork.  
  
As it hit the wooden floorboards with an unsettling _clang,_ Freddie asked politely, "Is there something you wish to tell us, darling?"  
  
Ronnie frowned at him, wondering what she could have possibly revealed to him with her thoughts.  
  
"No," she mumbled. "I don't believe so."  
  
"No?" Freddie asked with raised eyebrows. "You mean to say, there's nothing you wish to ask Deaky?"  
  
Ronnie was careful not to look at John, though she could see, out of the corner of her eye, the way his fork stopped in mid-air as he fixed Freddie with an unnerving stare from under his arched eyebrows.  
  
She pushed her plate away. "As if you don't already know what I'm thinking."  
  
"She's right," Brian said cheerfully to Freddie. "You can read minds, remember?"  
  
Freddie sighed dramatically.   
  
He needn't have bothered with mind games; Ronnie knew exactly what he was trying to do! Freddie knew perfectly well that she hadn't been planning on asking John anything. He was just trying to get her to talk to him.  
  
Ever since John had rescued Ronnie from the northern woods two days before, they had remained stuck in a strange vortex of misunderstandings. John kept his distance from her, believing that it was what she wanted; he still didn't realize that her words, the very words that had led him to that bottle of vodka, were untrue.  
  
Of course, Ronnie didn't know that; she hadn't the slightest idea that he had overheard her conversation with Freddie. And besides, she was too busy wrestling with her broken trust, which was causing her to keep her distance from John, in turn. His intentions were, after all, unclear to her; she still didn't have answers regarding her mysterious pregnancy or the reason John hadn't heeded her warning, allowing himself to transform into an even more dangerous version of himself.  
  
Not to mention that it was completely unnatural that his touch could lure her into a deep, irresistible sleep. What was the Trance, anyway, and why was it affecting only her? Sarina hadn't fallen prey to it when she had read his palm that night...  
  
Freddie's voice pulled her away from her maddening thoughts. "Darling..."   
  
Ronnie turned to John quite suddenly, not because she had any wish to fulfill Freddie's request, but because he was the only one who could explain what had happened to her in the northern woods.  
  
She wasn't stupid; she knew that beautiful, ethereal being in the forest (whom she had begun calling Dream John) wasn't real.  
  
"What happened in the northern woods?" she asked in a low voice.  
  
Slowly, John turned his head towards her. If Ronnie was being honest with herself, he did look a lot better than he had the night he transformed. His sideburns were slowly retreating up his jawline, his hair was straightening itself out, and his cuspid fangs were shortening, gradually making their way back into his mouth. The bright, wavering red and orange irises were beginning to fade, leaving a light cinnamon color behind.  
  
John opened his mouth before he remembered it would do him absolutely no good. Sighing, he raised his eyebrows at Freddie, silently imploring him to explain.  
  
Freddie tapped his chin thoughtfully. "If I'm interpreting Deaky's thoughts correctly, then it would appear the northern woods was cursed and whatever you saw there wasn't real. It was dark magic devised to trap you within the trees, where you would have slowly died."  
  
Ronnie remembered the swirling fingers of the snowflakes and a feeling of icy dread spread throughout her chest. "Really?"  
  
"Yes, darling. It takes your deepest desire and turns it into a very real hallucination that you can't possibly resist."  
  
Brian shook his head, his eyes filled with remorse. "I'm sorry, Ronnie. If I had known, I wouldn't have let you go in the first place."  
  
Ronnie waved her hand in dismissal, indicating his apology wasn't necessary. Even as she did so, another thought tugged at her mind; Brian hadn't known, yet John had. So that's why John had never allowed her near the northern woods before...  
  
Freddie narrowed his eyes at her. "So what was your deepest, darkest desire, darling? What was the one thing that was so wonderful that it made you want to stay in that cold, blizzard encrusted forest forever?"  
  
Ronnie swiftly dropped her gaze and attempted to shed all of her thoughts before Freddie could read her mind and discover for himself just exactly what she desired more than anything.  
  
As she felt everyone's eyes on her, flashes of light and jumbles of memories collided with each other within her mind as she tried to think of anything but Dream John holding her close in a sunny, enchanted forest.  
  
 _Think of wallpaper,_ she told herself. _Ghastly, ancient, peeling wallpaper covered with overgrown pink peonies and stained with age...  
_  
"I don't know, darling," Freddie said as his eyes sparkled with amusement. "I quite admire wallpaper."  
  
Ronnie's mind betrayed her, as minds often do. As soon as the words were out of Freddie's mouth, her mind summoned up an image of John running his hands over that same wallpaper, flattening the peeling strips back onto the wall.  
  
A knowing smile slowly spread across Freddie's face. Ronnie bowed her head to ensure that her hair was hiding her flushed cheeks.  
  
Anita came to Ronnie's rescue. "But John, if that's what the northern woods does to people, wouldn't you have gotten caught in it's trap, too?"  
  
Freddie cleared his throat importantly. "I'll have you all know he fought and overcame his own desire hallucination to save her."  
  
Ronnie unwittingly looked up at the bassist, who was studying his plate and carefully avoiding eye contact with anyone.  
  
Roger roused himself from his sleepy stupor long enough to ask, "What's your desire, Deaky? To have your dad back?"  
  
The question was very insightful on Roger's part and it elicited a small smile from Sarina, before her own thoughts (perhaps of a deceased loved one? Ronnie wondered to herself) stole the smile from her face.  
  
As Freddie read the answer in John's mind, his face softened.  
  
"What did he say?" Ronnie whispered, burning with curiosity.  
  
Freddie sighed. "He said it's not time for you to know that yet."  
  
Just as Ronnie was trying to decide what that meant, John lurched forward, his elbows hitting the table with a bang; the impact made the crystal goblets on the table tremble.  
  
"John?" Brian asked quietly as he laid down his knife and fork.  
  
John was shaking his head, intending to ward off Brian's concern, but he was interrupted by another violent jerk of his body. He quickly turned in his chair, so that he was facing the wall, and doubled over in pain.  
  
Instinctively, Ronnie placed a hand on his back, and though she felt the tendrils of the Trance reaching for her, she didn't let go of him.  
  
Sarina was already on her feet and circling the table. As John's trembling limbs reached an entirely new level of intensity, the flames of the candles in the room brightened to a ferocious brilliance and leapt dangerously into the air.  
  
John sprang to his feet and stumbled from the room. Moments later, they heard heavy footsteps thundering up the staircase.  
  
Freddie and Brian hurried from the room as Roger stuffed one more bite of souffle into his mouth before he ran after them. After they had disappeared, Ronnie went to the open door and gripped the doorframe so tightly that her knuckles turned white.  
  
As Sarina and Anita joined her and they all stared up the dark staircase together, Ronnie whispered, "He's transforming again."  
  
\---  
  
Freddie wasn't particularly fond of breaking down doors. No, breaking down doors was a messy business that involved brute strength and rivers of sweat; also, the risk of broken toes and unavoidable body odor was simply too high.  
  
Yet here he was, shoving his delicate shoulder into the unyielding wood of Deaky's bedroom door.  
  
"Deaky!" Roger roared as he uselessly slapped his palms against the door. "Open the damn door!"  
  
Crouched on the floor, Brian tried to maneuver the mechanics of the lock; unfortunately, Deaky had ensured that the locks on his bedroom couldn't be tampered with, unlike the rest of the locks in the castle.  
  
"John," Brian said calmly into the keyhole. "John, we need you to open the door so we can help you..."  
  
It took almost thirty minutes of Brian's coaxing, Roger's threats, and Freddie's feeble attempts to batter down the otherwise sturdy door, before they heard the lock click and knew that Deaky was finally admitting them into the room.  
  
Upon opening the door, they found him at the window, which was opened wide, despite the chill in the air.  
  
"Deaky?" Brian murmured uncertainly as the trio of bandmates observed John's hair, which was once more in an uncontrolled state.  
  
Deaky wrapped his arms protectively around himself, but he did not turn around.  
  
Freddie delicately stepped over a crumpled ball of paper, noticing that the entire floor was littered with identical paper balls. He picked one up and opened it to find two lonely words.  
  
 _Dear Ronnie..._  
  
Brian and Roger had followed suit, plucking balls of paper off the ground and uncrinkling them to find that they were all discarded letters that addressed Ronnie, but said no more than her name.  
  
 _Ronnie, To Ronnie, Dearest Ronnie..._  
  
Freddie crushed the letter between his fist as he sadly realized this was as far as Deaky could get. And judging by the dates on the letter, he had been trying to compose his explanation to the White Queen since the day they had returned from the northern woods.  
  
With a sign, Freddie tossed the paper ball at Roger. It bounced off the drummer's head, but Roger ignored it as he reached out and hesitantly poked Deaky in the shoulder.  
  
Deaky still refused to budge.  
  
"Darling, please," Freddie pleaded softly.  
  
Deaky's fingers tightened on his elbows, before his shoulders slumped in defeat and he slowly turned to face his friends.  
  
A dumbfounded silence filled the small space as Brian, Roger, and Freddie stared at Deaky's newly transformed features.   
  
Freddie shook his head in wide-eyed disbelief. Deaky had been doing so _well!_ Every day, the strange features he had acquired from drinking the vodka had begun to gradually disappear and now...well, now they had returned in full force.  
  
The wild pouf of dark hair, the cuspid fangs that dipped down to his lower lip, the rugged sideburns which were, if Freddie did say so himself, actually quite flattering...  
  
And the feral irises of fire, which were dancing untamed around his black pupils, as if a wind had blown into the room to disturb them.  
  
"Who gave him alcohol at dinner!" Freddie demanded, before whirling towards Roger. "Was it you?"  
  
"Excuse _me!"_ Roger exclaimed indignantly. "How many times do I have to tell you I'm _not trying to sabotage him anymore!"_  
  
Deaky shook his head to confirm that he hadn't actually consumed any alcohol.  
  
"John, are you sure?" Brian asked, his brows knit together in concern. "I thought that alcohol consumption was the only way this could happen to you..."  
  
Deaky nodded that he was quite sure before he leaned his shoulder into the wall, wearing a most disheartened expression.  
  
Brian began to pace the room, deep in thought.  
  
Roger motioned towards the empty hearth. "At least there wasn't a fire this time."  
  
Freddie acknowledged Deaky. "Roger's quite right, dear. Very smart of you flee from the dining room, away from all those candles."  
  
"There has to be a reasonable explanation for this," Brian muttered to himself. "After all, Deaky didn't transform last night, or the night before..." He stopped suddenly and turned to the forlorn bassist. "Is there anything about tonight that is similar to the first night you transformed?"  
  
Roger wrinkled his nose in a show of extreme concentration. "He's wearing pants."  
  
Brian shot him a look, before he tried again. "What I'm trying to say is, there must be something that happened on the first night he transformed, and it happened again tonight, but it wasn't there last night..."  
  
Freddie nodded. "Ah, excellent point, darling. Yes, there's one mysterious factor that's making the transformation occur all over again..."  
  
A gust of wind burst through the open window to rustle stray wisps from Deaky's extreme hairstyle. Turning to look over his shoulder into the night, his eyes found what was very likely that one specific factor...  
  
He pointed up at the moon.  
  
Brian leaned out the window. "Was it a crescent moon the night you first transformed, Deaky?"  
  
Deaky nodded.  
  
Roger brightened. "Sarina says the crescent moon represents fertility. Sort of like how Deaky fertilized Ronnie with his..."  
  
"I think Deaky's right," Brian said, ignoring Roger's insightful observation. "The last two nights were a full moon and nothing happened to him. It could very well be that the crescent moon is what's causing him to transform all over again."  
  
"Like a werewolf," Roger added.  
  
Freddie snorted. "Our Deaky is not a _wolf!_ The poor, innocent darling is nothing but a...a werebear, if you will."  
  
Brian put a reassuring hand on Deaky's shoulder. "Don't worry, John. There has to be some kind of cure. We'll find it."  
  
Deaky swallowed hard and looked away. Freddie felt the force of his friend's hopeless thoughts as he recognized his situation for exactly what it was: a curse upon a curse. 

A double curse.   
  
Poor Deaky thought the alcohol would have merely been an unwelcome transformation, but it was actually a second curse, complicating the first curse that Trident had bestowed upon him.   
  
"Oh, no you don't!" Freddie exclaimed as Deaky covered his eyes with his hand. "We're not letting you give up that easily, darling."  
  
Deaky forced his strained voice into the open.  
  
 _This is the only life for me_  
 _Surround myself around my own fantasy_  
  
Roger stepped forward and slung an arm around Deaky's shoulders, wincing as he felt the overwhelming heat from his skin. "I was able to conquer my curse. If I can do it, anyone can."  
  
Brian considered this before he nodded. "He's right, you know."  
  
And so, the four bandmates spent the next few hours crammed on Deaky's bed, speculating and planning and trying to raise the bassist's hopes. And when they finally tucked Deaky in for the night and climbed down the turret staircase, they were met with an entirely new hope, one that seemed to shine brighter than the crescent moon in the sky.  
  
Ronnie was sitting on the bottom step. When she heard their footsteps, she rose to her feet and turned to them, wringing her hands.  
  
"Is he all right?" she asked, her eyes brimming with worry.  
  
Freddie could tell from the dark circles under her eyes that she had likely been sitting there for a long time.  
  
"He will be," Brian said softly. "Maybe not tonight, but eventually."  
  
After seeing her safely to her room, the trio went their separate ways. As he yawned and opened his bedroom door, Freddie tucked away the memory of Ronnie's concern with every intention of telling Deaky about it in the morning.  
  
 **The Next Morning**  
  
The knock on the front door was polite, yet confident.  
  
Ronnie was traveling from the library when she heard it, her arms filled with books. She was intending to spend the day diverting her attention from John, as well as her own feelings, which were tied into all sorts of complicated knots.  
  
She looked around but it appeared that she was the only one on the first floor. Having nowhere proper to set down her burden, as she was a strong believer that books were too sacred to be left upon the ground, Ronnie called out, "Come in!"  
  
After all, it was likely only Roger; he had probably locked himself outside again.  
  
But when the door opened, it was most certainly _not_ Roger. Instead, Ronnie found herself gazing upon a cloaked figure, who nodded at one of the books she was carrying.  
  
 _"The House of Fallen Leaves,"_ a male voice said with interest. "That's a good one, very abstract."  
  
Ronnie stared down at the book stupidly. "Oh, yes...erm..."  
  
The figure removed his black hood, revealing a pair of bright aqua eyes that were lined heavily with black. Dark, brown hair fell down around his ears, one of which was pierced with a dazzling diamond. Ghostly facial hair lined his upper lip and his chin, no doubt the result of many days of traveling.   
  
As he observed her stunned expression, his face broke into a friendly smile that was borderline sweet.  
  
"I'm looking for the cursed young man who resides here."  
  
Ronnie adjusted the books in her arms. "You know John?"  
  
The man leaned casually against the doorframe. "Well, only for five minutes. I asked him to watch this castle for me until I got back."  
  
Ronnie blinked. "This is...your castle?  
  
The man pulled off his fingerless glove to show her his hand; on his right middle finger was a silver ring with an ornate L engraved into it.  
  
Ronnie realized it perfectly matched the ring she had found in the large mahogany desk in the library.  
  
The man nodded in confirmation. "Allow me to officially welcome you to Lambert Castle."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is! I know some of you thought it was Gwilym, which was a really great guess! He will be making an appearance later on. In the meantime, Mr. Lambert is going to be EXTREMELY important in finding the solution to the alcohol curse.
> 
> Once again, credit for the palm reading descriptions goes to wikiHow!


	19. Chapter 19

_"There_ you are, darling!"  
  
Ronnie turned away from Mr. Lambert to see Freddie making a dramatic entrance on the grand staircase. As he practically floated down the steps, he paid no mind to the mysterious visitor who was still hovering near the open door. Either he was deliberately ignoring him, or he had no idea he was there.  
  
It was probably the latter; the unadorned Christmas tree was likely blocking his view of the front door.  
  
"I thought you'd want to know how our dear Deaky is faring," Freddie continued, stopping halfway down the staircase to drape himself backward over the banister and mutter forlornly, "Poor darling."  
  
Ronnie glanced at Mr. Lambert, who was observing Freddie curiously. "Ehm, Freddie..."  
  
"Well, I'll have you know that, as we speak, Sarina is tending to the black wound over his heart," Freddie said as he resumed his journey down the stairs. "Bloody thing - no pun intended, dear - it opened up again last night during the transformation. And wouldn't you know it, Brian - such a clever darling - learned it's the _crescent moon_ that is causing Deaky to re-transform, so he is busy as a bee devising a calendar of the lunar cycle! That way, Deaky will know on which nights he can expect to...er, _change._ In other words, no more nasty surprises!"  
  
Freddie rounded the Christmas tree and stopped short as he came face to face with Mr. Lambert.  
  
The two men observed each other silently, Freddie lifting his nose into the air and peering down it at the newcomer. Tossing a protective arm around Ronnie's shoulders, he tried to determine if this dashing young man was simultaneously capable of storming the castle _and_ upstaging him in appearance and manner.  
  
Or both. Ronnie guessed Freddie wouldn't tolerate a threat to his divahood.  
  
Slowly, Mr. Lambert's lips curved into a smile as his gaze fell upon Freddie's black fingernails. Holding up a hand, he wiggled his own fingers, displaying fingernails that were painted an identical shade of midnight.  
  
"Oh, darling," Freddie breathed, addressing Ronnie but never taking his eyes off the devilishly handsome stranger. "Can we keep him?"  
  
Ronnie tried not to smile. "Considering it's _his_ castle, I think it's more of a question of will he keep _us?_ Freddie, meet Mr. Lambert."  
  
Mr. Lambert stepped forward and extended his hand.   
  
"Please, call me Adam."  
  
\---  
  
Adam Lambert _did_ keep them.  
  
He insisted that they all stay as his guests and he would not allow any of them to give up their rooms for him, preferring to stay in a tiny closet of a bedroom that could only be accessed via hidden passageway.  
  
And then he proceeded to make friends with every single one of them and by the end of his first week, he had succeeded magnificently.  
  
Mornings were spent meditating with Sarina in the stained glass chapel; afterward, Adam would tuck Ronnie's hand into the crook of his arm and escort her around the castle grounds (for she seemed to have a compulsive need to escape the castle walls).  
  
Lunchtime was usually spent overindulging and joking with Roger, before Adam would wile away the early afternoons with Anita as they discussed their shared love of theater. Evenings were for sitting beside Freddie at the piano as they sang together, their voices complimenting each other beautifully, before they would join the others in the candlelit dining room for an entertaining supper.  
  
After dinner, Adam would stand at the window with Brian and watch with interest as the guitarist pointed out the different constellations in the night sky. And in the very late hours, the ones that usually bordered on midnight, Adam would sit with John in the library after everyone else had retired and watch him scribble out his story on dozens of sheets of parchment.  
  
And as the early hours of the morning gradually welcomed the dawn's first light, Adam would lie in his bed, wrapped in sheets of soft silk, and try to think of how he could help him.   
  
For Adam Lambert was a warlock. And he felt he had to do _something._  
  
\---  
  
The clock on the library mantle chimed ten thirty.  
  
Glancing out the window, Ronnie saw the curve of a crescent moon hanging in the sky and felt her heart sink as she thought of John. The night before had also been a crescent moon and she knew it couldn't be easy for him to go through that transformation two nights in a row.  
  
The crisp sound of a page turning captured her attention and she glanced at the corner, where Adam was comfortably squashed in an overstuffed armchair, his legs crossed as he consulted _On Dark Magic and Forbidden Spells,_ which was perched on his knee. His lovely aquatic eyes carefully skimmed the page before his lip curled in derision and he dismissed the spell by licking his index finger and flipping to the next page.  
  
A low, mournful growl distracted him. Looking over the top of the spell book, he found Delilah resting her head against his leg as she blinked dolefully up at him, letting him know she was completely starved for attention.  
  
As Adam laughed and affectionately ruffled the thick fur around Delilah's neck, Ronnie smiled. But her smile disappeared as she returned to the parchment spread out on the desk before her and the lone four words scrawled across it.  
  
 _Dear Mum and Dad..._  
  
"You're troubled, darling."  
  
Ronnie looked up and found herself staring directly into Freddie's worried eyes as he leaned his hip against the sturdy desk.  
  
"Is it because you threw up thrice today, instead of just twice?" Roger asked from his respective armchair.  
  
Brian raised his eyebrows. "Thrice, Roger? I see you've expanded your vocabulary..."  
  
Ronnie sighed. "Yes, Roger. That's exactly it."  
  
But her sarcastic tone was weak; the irony flew over Roger's head and hit the wall with a nonexistent splat as the drummer nodded, satisfied that he could read women so well.  
  
Freddie fixed Ronnie with a knowing look. "I daresay there's something more on your mind, darling."  
  
Ronnie bit her lip uncertainly, unsure if she was ready to speak her worries out loud. After all, if they were only in her head, she could usually pretend they didn't exist; though, the more accustomed she became to her pregnant body, the more difficult it became to push her concerns away.  
  
She found she was always thinking of home. How embarrassing it would be to return to her village, her coming-of-age journey incomplete and her mission failed. How humiliating it would be for everyone to know she had been abandoned; how no man in his right mind would want to pick up the pieces Valentino had left behind.   
  
Before the pregnancy, she would have only had to cope with murmurs of pity behind her back, speculations on what had been so wrong with her that she couldn't find a husband. But now, she'd have to grapple with the open looks of disdain that would be aimed her way as an unwed woman heavy with another man's child.   
  
She'd bring shame upon her entire family.  
  
Ronnie felt the heat of someone's eyes on her; she shifted her gaze to John, who was lounging on the settee as he observed her. His irises were bright and hot with fresh flames, thanks to the transformation from the night before. How would he react to hearing her concerns about the pregnancy that had been entirely _his_ fault?  
  
Freddie echoed her thoughts, which wasn't surprising in the least, considering he could _read_ them. "Don't worry about what Deaky will think. Get this off your chest, darling."  
  
Ronnie carefully placed her quill upon the mostly blank parchment. "I...don't think I can tell my parents I'm pregnant in a letter."  
  
"Ronnie, would your parents be disappointed because you're with child, or because it's out of wedlock?" Brian asked, his eyebrows knit together in concern.  
  
"They'd be disappointed it happened out of wedlock," Ronnie answered.  
  
Roger straightened up importantly. "Perhaps one of us could pretend to be the father."  
  
John half rose out of his seat, silently communicating with Freddie and indicating that he would be perfect for that job, considering he really _was_ the father...  
  
Freddie put a placating hand on John's arm, pushing him back onto the settee as he tried to soften the doubt in his voice. "That's very noble, darling, but..."  
  
"In case you've forgotten, you're the fucking Black Queen, Deaky!" Roger whispered loudly.  
  
Anita, who had been cradling Brighton in her lap as she brushed his fur with a miniature hairbrush, looked up and added gently, "Roger's right. It's possible Ronnie's village wouldn't accept you as you are, John, especially if they're as intolerant as they seem."  
  
"Which village are you from, Ronnie?" Adam asked curiously.  
  
Ronnie forced herself to tear her gaze away from John. "The village of Willow Green."  
  
Adam's brow furrowed. "What's your family's surname?"  
  
"Tetzlaff."  
  
Recognition sparkled in Adam's eyes but he said nothing as he turned another of the spellbook's pages.  
  
"Ronnie, darling," Freddie said suddenly. "What if you learned to trust Deaky again? If you broke the curse and his Black Queenly features melted away, he could come home with you as the true father of your child."  
  
John looked up at her from under his dark eyebrows, no doubt fearing her reaction but needing to see it for himself. Unable to tolerate his hopeful gaze, which stung like a hundred love infested bees, Ronnie picked up her quill and stared down at that infernal letter.   
  
_They all thought it was so easy, didn't they?_ she thought bitterly to herself. _Learn to trust him again, Ronnie, just like that._  
  
But in the last week, Ronnie had realized that trust had been her downfall and she couldn't afford to make that mistake again.  
  
She had arrived at this conclusion thanks to all the time she had on her hands; whether she was kneeling upon the cold stone of the bathroom floor as she vomited every morning, or wandering aimlessly through the endless castle corridors in the afternoon, or tossing in tangled sheets late at night, she was always lost in her thoughts.  
  
And that's how she had arrived at the realization that she was _too_ trusting. For an entire two years, she had put her trust in a man who didn't love her. That had been her first experience with heartache and she should have waited before she fell in love again. She should have first tended to the crack that Valentino had so effortlessly put in her heart, but instead, she had run into John's welcoming arms. And it had been _too soon._  
  
And she wouldn't do it again.  
  
"Trust takes time."  
  
Everyone turned to stare at Sarina, who was sitting cross-legged before the hearth as she shuffled a deck of tarot cards.   
  
"It took Ronnie months to learn to trust John fully before," she added, "and considering the circumstances, it might take longer this time."  
  
Though Ronnie warned herself not to look at John, her eyes still found his.  
  
"I don't have that kind of time," she whispered apologetically. "I need to go home."  
  
John nodded, indicating that he understood. Yet still he folded his arms protectively across his chest, as if he were trying to physically shield his heart from her distrust.  
  
Roger jumped to his feet, crossed the library in four long strides, and plucked the letter off the desk. _"I_ will escort you back to your village as your husband."  
  
And then he ripped her letter to shreds. And come to think of it, perhaps he had done her a favor by doing so.  
  
"That's incredibly sweet of you, Roger," Ronnie said as he tossed the remnants of the letter into the fire, "but pretending to be married to me would be a life long commitment and I don't want _anyone_ sacrificing themselves like that."  
  
Roger shrugged. "Then I'll leave you. After a month. So everyone can hate me instead of you."  
  
"So very gallant of you, darling," Freddie muttered.  
  
Ronnie shook her head. "Even so, I can't bring home a husband without the..." She trailed off quite suddenly, her cheeks turning a deep shade of rose.  
  
Adam leaned forward, his dark brows arched with interest. And Ronnie honestly couldn't blame him; he was, after all, the only person in the room who didn't know about the virgin flower.  
  
But she wasn't up to the task of reminding everyone about her sexual inexperience, so she quickly hefted herself out of her chair.  
  
"It's late," she muttered as she hurried towards the door. "I think I'll..."  
  
Freddie grasped her hand before she could leave the room. "There's nothing wrong with being a _virgin,_ darling." He turned to Adam and said with an air of great importance, "The White Queen must journey to the _Virgin_ Forest and pluck a _virgin_ flower from the _virgin_ soil in order for her parents to accept her and her husband into the family."

Ronnie stared at the floor and wondered how many more attempts Freddie would make to insert the word _virgin_ multiple times into one sentence.  
  
Brian reached out to pat Ronnie's hand. "Virgins are actually quite revered in the west, aren't they?"  
  
Roger nimbly crushed Brian's attempt to make Ronnie feel better by asking, "Was that before or after they sacrificed them?"  
  
Freddie gasped. "That's a myth, Roger!"   
  
"Or a metaphor," Roger said mysteriously.  
  
Ronnie, with her hand still in Freddie's, numbly listened to this banter as she tried not to drown in her own inhibitions. She knew it was ridiculous, but there was something quite humiliating about being both the least sexually experienced person in the room _and_ the person who was suffering from the consequences that usually came from a sexual union.  
  
In the name of science, she had no right to be a virgin!  
  
John's voice surrounded her instantly; his words were a gentle caress, a finger trailing down her cheek and lifting her chin to look up at him. The flames in his eyes flickered to a warm orange that was positively calming as he set his message free.  
  
 _Never worry, never mind_  
  
In other words, her sexual prowess wasn't important and had no bearing on who she really was.  
  
Ronnie stared at him in wonder. How could he do that? she wondered to herself. How could he continue to comfort her after she had so thoroughly distanced herself from him? How could he still care for her like this after she had so clearly hurt him by refusing to play the trust game again?  
  
"That's it!" Anita exclaimed suddenly. "That's the answer to your problem, Ronnie!"  
  
Ronnie turned away from John. "What?"  
  
"The virgin flower! It will prove your innocence!"  
  
Sarina's eyes widened. "You're right, Anita! If Ronnie completes her journey and brings home the virgin flower, she can tell her village the truth about her pregnancy. And they'll have to believe her because she'll have the proof - the flower that only virgins can pick!"  
  
"I don't know if pregnant women can enter the Virgin Forest!" Ronnie protested.  
  
"It can't hurt to try," Brian offered.  
  
"And then you can leave Roger and his heart breaking ways far behind!" Freddie added dramatically.  
  
The clock chimed quarter after eleven. Ronnie knew John was running out of time; apparently, he knew that, too, for he rose from his chair and swiftly left the room.  
  
Freddie allowed a sensible thirty seconds to pass before he discreetly followed.  
  
Adam stared at the door as it snapped shut. "I think I found a way to help John."  
  
Everyone swiveled around to look at him as he rotated the spellbook and lifted it up for them to see the dark, elegant script sprawled across the top of the page.  
  
 **The God Speak Spell**  
  
In response to the blank stares that were now being aimed at him, Adam explained, "It gives me the ability to contact Trident."  
  
"How will that help John?" Anita asked, her voice very quiet, as if she feared Trident was listening.  
  
Adam let out a nervous exhale as he recognized the daunting task before him for what it was.   
  
"I'm going to ask him to reverse John's curses."  
  
\---  
  
John slowly made his way up the stairs to his bedroom. He wasn't exactly in a hurry to experience another transformation so soon and couldn't understand how he had been so unlucky as to attract a crescent moon two nights in a row.  
  
Not to mention that the conversation they had just had about Ronnie returning home hadn't cheered him up in the least. As if he needed to be reminded that she would be leaving, and taking their child with her.  
  
Forever.  
  
He was startled from his despondent thoughts by a hand covering his on the banister. He jumped and turned to find himself staring into the warm brown irises of Freddie's darkly lined eyes.  
  
"You need to tell her what you saw in the northern woods, darling," he said solemnly.  
  
John pulled his hand away and continued up the stairs.  
  
Freddie was hot on his heels. "I saw the look on your face in the library! If you don't tell her your deepest desire, darling, how will she ever know you want the child almost as much as you want her?"  
  
John swallowed hard. He never intended to tell her that! The last thing he wanted to do was scare her even more than he already had and he made sure to emphasis this thought in his mind, with at least a dozen exclamation points, to get his point across to Freddie.  
  
"But darling, I think she's warming up to you!" Freddie pointed out as he followed John into his room.  
  
John spun around to face his friend. Yes, Ronnie had been kind. She wished him good morning and bid him goodnight. She smiled at him. She passed him the butter at dinner.  
  
But she would do no less for anyone else in the castle.  
  
Freddie planted his hands on his hips. "I happen to think she passed the butter in an extraordinary sensual way."  
  
John rolled his eyes, indicating if Freddie considered that sensual, then the way Roger passed the rolls was outright erotic.  
  
Freddie winced. "Don't put that visual into my mind, darling, I beg of you."  
  
John turned away and opened the window. Though there was no fire in the hearth (for his safety, as well as everyone else's), it was going to get quite hot in the room once the transformation snatched him.  
  
"All I'm saying is that I'm sure she doesn't realize you've already formed a bond with the baby," Freddie said softly. "And perhaps if you told her, she'd reconsider..."  
  
John stared up at the crescent moon, which tugged uncomfortably at his heart, warning him that it was almost time. Using his thoughts, he acknowledged Freddie's idea but pointed out a few details that perhaps Freddie hadn't noticed.  
  
Like how Ronnie never let herself get too close to him. And she most certainly never allowed herself to be caught alone with him. How she couldn't look into his eyes for too long before she had to turn away. And though the fear had faded a bit from her demeanor, things still weren't the same. They'd probably _never_ be the same.  
  
Freddie sighed, sensing that the bassist had reached his limit for the evening, as far as hopeful sentiments went. "Do you want me to stay?"  
  
The corner of John's mouth lifted in an almost nonexistent smile of gratitude before he shook his head.  
  
As soon as Freddie closed the door, the first painful spasms seized John. And that's when he knew it was going to be a difficult transformation, more so than the three others he had already experienced. Perhaps that was because it was the second night in a row and he hadn't had time to fully recover. Or perhaps it was the thought of the woman he loved leaving him forever.  
  
He rocked forward in pain, sinking to his knees and digging his fingernails into the rug before the hearth. Perhaps it was the fact that his unborn child would never know who he was.  
  
And for the very first time, John was glad he didn't have a voice. Because if he did, he would have screamed.  
  
 **The Next Evening**  
  
The snow glowed a ghostly white on the forest floor as John and Adam trudged through the wood, following the light of the (mercifully) full moon. They had bid their friends farewell, leaving them behind in the parlor, where they would no doubt still be waiting when John and Adam returned.  
  
John found himself holding their encouragement close as he steeled himself to come face to face with the very god who had ruined his life. He could still feel Anita's pat on his hand, Sarina's comforting hug, Brian's motivational clap on his back.  
  
Then there was Freddie's admirable attempt at boosting his confidence by whispering, "Darling, tell Trident you want the curses gone but you want to keep the sideburns. Because they do you all sorts of favors."  
  
And the loyal way in which Roger had hissed, "I'd go with you, but I know I'd kill Trident the moment I laid eyes on him!"  
  
But the most heartening of all these had been when Ronnie appeared on the grand staircase at the very last moment as she lifted her hand in farewell to him and mouthed _good luck._  
  
John was still thinking of her as he and Adam arrived at the devilishly hideous old tree that marked the spot where the spellbook had once been buried. Adam knelt in the snow as he reverently placed the spellbook on a black stump and opened it to the God Speak Spell.   
  
John watched with interest as his new friend traced the words of the spell with his finger, using the light of the moon to read by. And then he lifted his face to the stars and sang.  
  
 _It's in the lap of the gods_  
 _Whoaa la la la la wooahh la la wooaa - oooo_  
  
As the last delicate high note drifted off into the night, John wished, not for the first time, that he could sing.  
  
Climbing to his feet, Adam brushed the snow from the knees of his tight leather pants before he inhaled and tried again, louder this time.  
  
 _It's in the lap of the gods_  
 _Whoaa la la la la wooahh la la wooaa - oooo_  
  
John glanced around anxiously. A wild animal howled somewhere in the distance.  
  
Hissing through his teeth, Adam outstretched his arms theatrically and repeated the spell a third time, his beautiful voice ringing through the trees.  
  
 _It's in the lap of the gods_  
 _WHOAA LA LA LA LA WOOAHH LA LA WOOAA - OOOO_  
  
A flock of crows, irritated by that last piercing note, burst from the tree tops and flew towards the round moon. The moment their black wings crossed the moon's iridescent whiteness, the ground began to rumble.  
  
The tree branches creaked eerily as a ferocious wind swayed them to and fro. John shivered as the cold air sent a flutter of dread down his spine before he threw up his arms to shield his eyes as a bright bust of light blinded him, sending him stumbling backwards into the darkness of the trees.  
  
Slowly, the light faded, leaving a large and unfortunately familiar man in it's wake.   
  
The almighty Trident. John's upper lip curled contemptuously as he reached for the nearest tree to steady himself.  
  
The god had opted to adorn himself in purple robes tonight, which lended his billowing white hair and long white beard a lavender glow. Glancing around the clearing, he looked incredibly irritated, until his gaze fell on Adam. And then his face did something John didn't think it was capable of...his features _softened.  
_  
"Well!" The god's voice boomed, it's cheerful tone echoing through the forest. "If it isn't Adam Lambert!"  
  
"Your godliness," Adam bowed elaborately, before leaning forward and asking in a conspiratorial tone, "Tell me, how fares your son?"  
  
Trident waved his hand jovially. "Oh, he's just out gallivanting around Nevermore, taking in the sights, charming all the ladies. And the men, too, at that! Sort of like yourself, young Adam!"  
  
Adam grinned. "I taught him well."  
  
Trident chuckled. "Indeed. But come now, I'm sure you didn't cast this delightful _charm_ just so we could chat, eh?"  
  
"You're right." Adam's smile slowly faded. "I didn't. I've summoned you so I can request clemency on behalf of my friend."  
  
Trident considered this thoughtfully, before he twirled a finger and held out his hand. A pair of black framed glasses fell out of the sky and into his palm; he promptly pushed them onto his nose.  
  
Sensing another presence in the clearing and noticing John tucked away in the shadows, Trident peered at him over the rectangular frames of his glasses. "Ah, John Deacon! Still haven't found a woman in white to trust you, I see. _And_ you've managed to get into the alcohol." He shook his head as he _tsked, tsked_ very softly.  
  
John felt his blood turn into molten lava as it simmered with rage. He opened his mouth to fling a toe curling insult at the god before he remembered he could do no such thing.  
  
Trident was already turning back to Adam as he asked in a business-like tone, "Now, who's this friend in need of my aid?"  
  
Adam flung out an arm and gestured grandly to John as he beamed up at Trident.  
  
Trident's cheeks turned a shade of purple that matched his attire quite impressively.   
  
_"Him?!"_ he spluttered. "You want clemency for _him?_ Never!"  
  
"Why not!" Adam demanded.   
  
Trident whipped his glasses off his nose and crushed them in his fist. "Because! He destroyed my Ogre Battle!"  
  
"Oh, come now!" Adam exclaimed. "This is all about some war he prevented? Surely it's better to make love than war any day!"  
  
Trident folded his arms and snorted. "Now you sound just like Elektra."  
  
"Trident, look at him!" Adam implored as he leaned forward. "Over two years and two curses later, I think he's served his sentence."  
  
"No!" Trident snapped. "Absolutely not!"  
  
Adam opened his mouth to protest but Trident interrupted him.  
  
"Reversing his curse will only undermine the power of the gods! It will send out a message to all that defy me that they will be easily forgiven and then no one will fear me like they should!"  
  
"No one has to know," Adam pointed out.  
  
 _"I_ will know," Trident growled. "And you and Deacon will no doubt _tell_ people. And thus my answer is final."  
  
Adam folded his arms. "Well, I'm sorry we wasted your time then." As he turned to go, he added under his breath, "And ours."  
  
After he'd grasped John by the arm and pulled him away from the shelter of a large oak, Adam turned back only once more. "Tell your boy I said hi, will you?"  
  
Trident let out a sigh that shook the tiny twiglets on the tree branches above. "Fine, fine, fine. I'll reverse the second curse and _only_ the second curse."  
  
Adam's eyebrows rose, disappearing under his carefully styled bangs. "You will?"  
  
Trident huffed, sounding very much like a disgruntled horse, though a mischievous spark lit up his eyes. "Under one condition."  
  
"Name it."  
  
Trident glanced at John. "In order for me to reverse the alcohol curse, Deacon must marry and remain married for three months."  
  
Adam's jaw dropped. "Who do you expect him to marry!" _  
_  
Trident's eyes shone with mirth. "The White Queen."  
  
John grasped the tree again, his black fingernails digging themselves deeply into the rough bark.  
  
"Ronnie Tetzlaff?" Adam asked in disbelief, before he shook his head. "What if someone else agreed to marry him?"

"No! It must be her." Trident turned to John and added, "You like her, don't you? I'm doing you a favor! You're welcome!"  
  
John glared at Trident from under furiously arched eyebrows. He was doing him a disservice! Nothing could possibly be worse than forcing the woman he loved to marry him against her will.  
  
"That's not fair!" Adam said fiercely. "How can he possibly ask that of her?"  
  
That was easy enough to answer, John thought bitterly to himself. He couldn't!  
  
Trident's eyes darkened. "Take my offer or leave it. I'm only doing this for _you,_ in honor of the love my son bears for you."  
  
Adam kneaded his fingers into his aching forehead, before he sighed and nodded. "What are your terms?"  
  
"Deacon has five nights to decide," Trident answered gravely, as if he was reading aloud last funeral rites. "I'll come to the castle at eight o'clock on January the eighteenth. If her answer is no, Deacon will remain as he is."  
  
"And if she says yes?" Adam inquired.  
  
"If she says yes, I will officiate the wedding and reverse the alcohol curse immediately. Deacon will then have to remain married to the White Queen for three months. After the allocated time has passed, the marriage may be annulled, if they so desire it. But if the marriage is annulled prematurely, the alcohol curse will return...forever."  
  
John turned on his heel and stormed away, knowing he was lost forever. As he aggressively brushed aside the branches that tried to ensnare him, clawing at his cloak and scraping his face, he tried to fight his growing disappointment and familiarize himself with the fact that he would likely remain a transformative Black Queen for all time.  
  
If Ronnie married him, she'd have to put aside her distrust, face her fears, and embrace her discomfort. She'd have to delay her journey home for three more months. She'd effectively become a prisoner of not only the castle, but his own heart.  
  
As John heard heavy footfalls and Adam shouting his name in the distance, he found a stick and etched his answer clearly in the snow.  
  
 _NO._  
  
Because he knew he could never ask that of Ronnie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, there's not a whole lot of action in this chapter and there's certainly not much Johnica, but I promise this chapter was very important, as far as setting the scene for chapters to come. There will be plenty of John and Ronnie moments next time, I swear!


	20. Chapter 20

The moment the castle dwellers heard the front door squeak open, they were all on their feet, whispering in soft, excited tones.  
  
"Do you think he's got eyes again?" Roger asked, his voice hushed as Anita tried to peer inconspicuously around the door. "Like, _real_ eyes?"  
  
"Oh, I hope he kept the sideburns!" Freddie whispered, casting his gaze upwards as if the heavens above could...and _should_...assist with the rescuing of said sideburns.  
  
Roger, who had taken a few moments to fluff his hair while staring into an ornate mirror on the wall, turned to Freddie as he finished preening. "My God, I'm so _nervous!_ How do I look?"  
  
"Like a shiny gold coin, darling," Freddie assured him.  
  
Brian stopped anxiously pacing the room long enough to remark, "I don't think John cares what you look like, Roger."  
  
"It's just, I haven't seen Deaky for a whole two years..." Roger began.  
  
Freddie raised an eyebrow. "You saw him this evening before he left."

"I meant the _real_ Deaky!" Roger argued.  
  
Brian groaned. "We've been over this many, many times! His appearance may have changed but that's _still him!"_  
  
"I know that, _Brian!_ I'm saying I haven't seen him with normal eyeballs since the battle and... "  
  
Anita whipped around and threw herself into the nearest armchair. "Here they come!"  
  
As the flickering candles tossed dancing shadows upon the wall and everyone hurried to find a seat, Sarina clasped her hands together and perched on the edge of her own chair, daring to hope that good fortune had found John just this once...  
  
"Everyone, act calm," Brian warned. "Just in case he..."  
  
Adam and John entered the parlor and a heavy silence descended upon the room as everyone observed John's eyes of fire that were glowing brighter than before, his cuspid fangs that seemed to dip lower than ever as they pierced his lower lip, and the extraordinary paleness of his skin. In other words, he was still in full possession of both curses.  
  
"...hasn't changed," Brian finished in a whisper.  
  
Freddie sprang from the piano bench, a loud cacophony of sound exploding through the room as his elbow hit the piano keys. "Darling, what happened!"  
  
John glanced over his shoulder nervously.   
  
Sensing John's apprehension, Adam asked in a very low voice, "Where's Ronnie?"  
  
"The loo," Roger muttered. "Where else do pregnant women go?"  
  
Adam tapped his lower lip thoughtfully before he dove into his explanation. "All right, listen. Trident won't reverse the first curse because he believes that would undermine his authority."  
  
Brian shook his head angrily as Freddie let out an indignant snort.  
  
"But he _will_ reverse the alcohol curse..." Adam continued. "...for a price. John has to marry and remain married for three months."  
  
Freddie clapped his hands in delight, his anger fading to reveal how very enchanted he was by this notion. "A wedding? Magnificent!"  
  
Sarina didn't sound enchanted in the least. Her voice was very quiet as she asked, "Adam, who does John have to marry?"  
  
The air in the room thickened with suspense. Adam glanced at John, who was half hiding in the doorway, as if this would offer him some semblance of shelter from the emotions that would surely storm the castle if this marriage took place.  
  
Roger squirmed uncomfortably, as if the tension in the room was chafing him. "Who does he have to marry? Say it already!"  
  
"It's Ronnie, isn't it?" Brian asked softly.  
  
As John looked away, Adam nodded. The excitement in Freddie's eyes promptly evaporated as he - along with everyone else - comprehended how much damage this proposed marriage could do if it actually took place.  
  
"But why!" Brian asked fiercely. "This marriage doesn't benefit Trident in the least!"  
  
"Yeah!" Roger agreed. "Why couldn't Deaky just fluff whatever cloud Trident sits his arse upon every day for three months?"  
  
"That wouldn't be entertaining in the least for Trident," Anita pointed out. "Gods like to play with people."  
  
"The bloody shark could have at least given Deaky a choice of spouse!" Freddie growled. "And then Roger could have married him and after three months, poof! The alcohol curse would be gone and everyone's emotions would still be intact!"  
  
Roger nodded solemnly. "I would have married you, Deaky."  
  
"Do you have a ring, John?" Brian asked sensibly. "Though you'll be asking Ronnie for her hand out of necessity, it should be as genuine as possible."  
  
John shook his head vehemently.  
  
"Oh, that's right," Adam said sardonically. "How could I forget? John is refusing to ask her!"  
  
Freddie gasped. "Deaky!"  
  
"We had a long talk about it on the way back," Adam added, though the talk mainly consisted of John shaking his head as Adam spouted all the reasons he should accept Trident's offer.  
  
"You mean you're not even going to try?" Roger demanded, his loud voice echoing off the stones of the hearth.  
  
Brian put a finger against his lips and pointed towards the ceiling, indicating they should keep their voices low, just in case...  
  
Realizing it was time to serve John a hearty dose of tough love, Sarina whispered his name. The kind firmness in her voice dragged John's gaze away from the floor, forcing him to meet her sympathetic eyes.  
  
"If you continue to transform every couple of nights, it will eventually destroy your body," Sarina said gravely. "I'm honestly not sure how many more times we can dress that wound over your heart before it splits open permanently. Not to mention what the sheer mental exhaustion will do to you..."  
  
"In other words, you have no choice," Freddie proclaimed to John. "Save the date, darlings!"  
  
"And what am I saving the date for, exactly?"  
  
At the sound of Ronnie's voice, everyone spun around, wearing identical expressions of guilt.  
  
Her arms were folded protectively against her chest and her expression was blank, though if anyone had looked closely enough, they would have seen a dangerous glint in her eyes, proving that she had heard every word and knew _exactly_ what kind of date they were talking about.  
  
Adam was the first to notice her unease. Stepping forward, he raised both hands, as if he were trying to soothe an irate bird. "Ronnie..."  
  
But before he could say another word, Ronnie's composure shattered and she turned on her heel. Moments later, they heard her footsteps as she stormed up the stairs.  
  
When everyone in the parlor had finally recovered from Ronnie's sudden departure, they noticed that John, too, was gone. The front door slammed shut, echoing the bang of Ronnie's own bedroom door.  
  
 **Two Nights Later**  
  
She shouldn't have ventured into the night alone, that much she knew.  
  
And yet, here Ronnie was, trudging through knee deep snow drifts, her cloak wrapped tightly around her as she glanced nervously over her shoulder. The trees made the night seem so much darker and the wind was intent on whispering empty promises into her ear.  
  
The forest at night was a dangerous place, no doubt, but Ronnie couldn't ignore how, the moment she had slipped out the front door, the tension of the castle had slipped from her shoulders, like a well worn robe. But even though she had escaped the castle walls, there was still a monumental choice hanging over her head.   
  
How could she marry John in good faith? While to do so would help him immensely, she would be throwing away her own impossible dream of a marriage that was built on a foundation of love and trust. The love was there, but it was shrouded in fear and uncertainty and above all else, she didn't want to get married if she was being _forced_ to.  
  
But at the very same time how could she refuse him? How could she subject him to a lifetime of painful transformations that would cripple both his body and his soul?  
  
John hadn't actually asked her to marry him yet, but then again, she hadn't given him the opportunity and no one dared mention it, lest they frighten her into seclusion. To say the least, the atmosphere within the castle had become quite strained, filled with pregnant (certainly no pun intended) silences, punctured now and then by pointless small talk.  
  
But she was free of it all, at last! The very thought made her hasten through the snow dusted woods, eager to reach her destination.  
  
When Ronnie finally arrived at the meadow and saw the beautiful horses with eagle wings prancing through the snow, her heart expanded with joy. Standing on the lowest rung of the wooden fence, she smiled as Lily recognized her, gracefully trotted over, and nickered a pleasant greeting.  
  
As Ronnie's fingers glided over Lily's smooth back, the horse's giant wings twitched before they slowly began to spread open, as if inviting Ronnie to journey with her into the sky. Biting her lip, Ronnie slowly climbed to the very top of the fence, crouching low as Lily waited patiently. Did she dare do this on her own? Did she dare mount this magnificent horse and fly to the moon?   
  
To do so would give her liberty, as well as permission to leave _everything_ behind - the fear, the monumental choice, the heartache...  
  
Suddenly overtaken by a wild desire to fly that was so great she couldn't possibly ignore it, Ronnie leaned forward and curled her fingers into Lily's mane of silver. But before her feet could leave the fence, she felt arms circling her waist, preventing her from climbing onto Lily's back.  
  
Bitterly disappointed, Ronnie bowed her head, though she wasn't entirely surprised that she had been followed. Letting go of Lily, she clung to the wooden post and lowered herself to a sitting position on the top of the fence.  
  
The arms released her and the fence wobbled slightly as her captor straddled the top rung, facing her.  
  
Slowly, Ronnie turned and found herself staring into John's orange-red eyes, which were filled with disbelief. His arms were folded as he frowned at her, clearing wishing to know why exactly she had been so ready to give herself away to the sky in reckless abandon.  
  
Ronnie sighed. She had been so caught up in the moment, so wrapped up in the delicious notion of freedom, that she hadn't realized that to ride Lily to the stars would have been _stupid._ It had taken John weeks to learn to fly her.  
  
The fence shifted once more as John slid off it and landed within the meadow. He gently stroked Lily's nose; as if she sensed what he was about to do, she gave him a gentle neigh of encouragement before she galloped away.  
  
Turning to Ronnie, John got down on one knee, his eyes never leaving hers. Those eyes were the only source of color against the luminous white of the landscape and the black of the shadows beyond. They were also filled with a flaming hope as he stared up at her and presented her with a small cream envelope.  
  
Ronnie, frozen to the fence with nervous anticipation, forced herself to take it. Breaking the wax seal, she pulled out a letter and held her breath as she read it.  
  
 _Ronnie,_  
  
 _I know this isn't what you want. And I know I have no right to ask you. And I wouldn't have ever asked if it weren't for the toll this curse is starting to take on my mind and my body.  
_  
 _I need your help.  
_  
 _All I can promise is that I'll make these three months as painless as possible for you. And that once three months is over, you can free yourself from me with an annulment.  
_  
 _Will you marry me?_  
  
An icy breeze drifted through the air, intensifying the goosebumps that already lined Ronnie's arms beneath the warmth of her cloak. She took her time refolding the letter and slipping it back into the envelope, in order to give herself time to think.  
  
Finally, she looked down at John, still kneeling in the snow as he watched her. His face was still but his shaking fingers gave away his anxiety.  
  
And his eyes were vibrant as they glowed in the darkness.  
  
"Before I say yes," Ronnie whispered, "I want you to tell me why you broke your promise."  
  
John bowed his head, nimbly sidestepping her question.  
  
"John," Ronnie said more firmly. "Why did you drink that night?"  
  
John stared at the ground for a few more moments before he got to his feet, held up his hands, and nodded to them.  
  
His voice surrounded Ronnie, ruffling her hair just like the wind had. _Open up your mind and let me step inside..._  
  
Months before John had said the very same thing before he had transported her back in time to the Ogre Battle, where she had occupied his body and witnessed everything through his own eyes...  
  
And she realized then that he wanted to _show_ her why he had consumed alcohol that night.  
  
Ronnie slowly pressed her palms against John's and parted her knees slightly, giving him permission to come closer. Though she was still sitting upon the fence, he was eye level with her and able to easily rest his forehead against hers.  
  
John closed his eyes and as Ronnie did the same, the comforting arms of the Trance reached for her immediately and her entire body tensed, preparing to fight it. But as bursts of vivid color swam in the dark space behind her eyelids, the Trance miraculously disappeared.  
  
The gleaming colors transformed into a perfect picture of the stairway that led to John's bedroom...  
  
 _And once again, Ronnie was in John's body, looking at the world from his point of view. Bits and pieces of heated conversation assaulted her ears as John hovered on the bottom step of the staircase._

_Then she recognized her own voice.  
_   
_"Freddie, I don't love him."  
_   
_Ronnie felt the smooth, polished wood of the banister as John's fingers tightened around it._

_"Nonsense, darling," Freddie said dismissively.  
_  
 _"I don't!"  
_  
 _"I don't believe you!"  
_  
 _"I never loved him!"  
_  
 _Everything went dark as John closed his eyes and Ronnie thought to herself how strange it was to hear this conversation from the outside, though she didn't quite catch what was said after that, because John's distracted thoughts drowned out the next part of the conversation. He was trying to explain away what he had heard, desperately hoping they were talking about somebody...anybody...else. As he pressed his hand against his chest, Ronnie felt his heart beating wildly in her palm. It was thumping out of control, echoing in her ears.  
_  
 _And then she heard her voice again.  
_  
 _"I was only doing what you all wanted me to do! I was only getting close to him to trust him enough to break the curse! And after I broke that curse, I would have given him his ring back, I would have begun to distance myself from him, I would have made sure things went back to the way they were before!"  
_  
 _The staircase came into view once more as John slowly opened his eyes, though the steps wavered and blurred, as if John wasn't truly seeing them.  
_  
 _"I didn't love him. I pitied him!"  
_  
 _Ronnie felt her breath hitch in her throat as John's emotional pain spread throughout her chest, seizing her heart and twisting it mercilessly. Almost instantly, the pain dropped and delivered a terrible punch to her stomach, making her feel like she might vomit.  
_  
 _And then, it was gone. All of that heartache was shoved aside by a piercing feeling of resentment, though as John stormed down the hall, the two distinct feelings - anguish and contempt - wrestled dangerously with each other, each one trying to drown out the other. And that's how Ronnie knew John was trying to suppress his feelings before they dragged him under.  
_  
 _And there was only one thing that could help him numb the pain.  
_  
 _Ronnie felt the roughness of aged wood on her knuckles as John knocked on Roger's door.  
_  
 _Roger appeared, wearing a smug expression.  
_  
 _"The wine cellar it is!"  
_  
Roger's voice faded and his face dimmed as the entire scene vanished all together, leaving only darkness as Ronnie slowly opened her eyes.

John immediately pulled his forehead away from hers but he didn't move away. His hands were resting on the fence, on either side of her hips, and she couldn't have escaped from him even if she'd wanted to.  
  
And she couldn't hide from the uncomfortable truth. It had been entirely her fault. John had drank because of her. Because of her lies.

A terrible feeling of residual anguish from the vision was still swimming in the pit of her stomach. Feeling John's dark gaze upon her, Ronnie stared at his shoulder and felt a tear roll down her cheek as she fought a battle with her conscience, which was warning her to tell him the truth.  
  
But to tell John the truth would be to admit how much she loved him. And that would open up the possibility of a relationship that she wasn't ready for. It would give him false hope, when she shouldn't be giving him any hope at all.   
  
And she knew if she told John how she felt about him, and he took her in his arms there under the cold winter moon, it would be her downfall because she would never, ever be able to let go.   
  
Taking a shaky breath, she looked John in the eye. Red moisture was lining his lower eyelids as he waited for her to say something, as he longed for her to tell him she hadn't meant a word of what she'd said.

"I'm sorry you heard that," Ronnie whispered.

It was a pitiful apology but it was the best she could do at the moment. Even so, it burnt like a wayward flame to see John's face fall. His entire body tensed as he readied himself to turn away.  
  
Before he could move, Ronnie caught his sleeve and said in a trembling voice, "Yes, I'll marry you."  
  
It was the least she could do after the pain she had unwittingly caused him.

John raised his eyebrows, fixing her with a very distinctive look that clearly asked if she was sure.  
  
Ronnie nodded.

Taking her hand in his, John's fingers fumbled as he slipped a pretty little handcrafted ring of woven ivy onto Ronnie's finger, the one reserved for her wedding band. And then, he carefully laid her hand back in her lap and climbing onto the fence, sat silently beside her.  
  
As the moon rose higher in the sky and the horses disappeared, one by one, into the dark comfort of the trees, Ronnie's fingers crawled a few inches down the length of the fence, until they bumped into John's hand, which was curled tightly around the wooden rung.  
  
She slipped her hand over his and squeezed it tight, the sharpness of his knuckles penetrating her palm as she covered the lion tattoo that was still inked on the back of his right hand, after all this time. 

The mark of the Black Queen.  
  
It was the only source of comfort she could give him but she knew it was not nearly enough to erase what he had heard that day.  
  
Or how her words had made him feel.  
  
 **January 18th**  
  
It was quarter of eight. 

The tiny hidden chapel had been scrubbed until the old stone gleamed, the stained glass window had been polished until it sparkled. The men of the castle were dressed in their finest, the ring was tucked safely into Freddie's pocket.   
  
The only thing to do now was wait.  
  
As Freddie stood with John before the stained glass window, he briskly whipped out a measuring tape and laid it against the bassist's heart.  
  
Frowning, he squinted at it. "Still broken, darling."   
  
John nodded absentmindedly, suggesting that the current state of his heart was the furthest thing from his mind at the moment. Sensing as much, Adam clapped him reassuringly on the shoulder.  
  
"But never you mind that," Freddie continued as he twirled the measuring tape around his finger, coiling it tightly so he could put it away. "The White Queen is going to fix everything, you'll see! I knew she'd come around eventually."  
  
Before John could raise so much as an eyebrow in response, Roger turned the corner and stumbled ungracefully into the rounded tower, disrupting the flames of the dozens of candles that lit the otherwise dark chapel.  
  
"Never fear," he said breathlessly as he tripped halfway down the aisle and nearly sailed into a very indignant Brian. "The best man has arrived!"

Brian turned to Freddie in dismay. "You didn't tell him?"  
  
"Tell me what?" Roger asked brightly as he squeezed himself between Freddie and John at the makeshift altar.

Freddie looked uncomfortable. "There wasn't time, darling..."  
  
Brian folded his arms and aimed a stern look at the vocalist. "For the past three months, we've been living in an ancient castle in the middle of nowhere. I'd hardly say we have a shortage of time on our hands."  
  
"Well, there was so much to do to get ready!" Freddie said defensively as he flicked nonexistent dust off his right shoulder. "I was on my hands and knees cleaning the floors for _ages,_ just like Cinderella!"  
  
"To be fair," Adam pointed out, "that only took a couple hours. Because there were _three_ of us doing it."

Freddie scowled. "Who's side are you on, darling!"  
  
"Tell me what?" Roger repeated uneasily.

Brian sighed. "Roger, we think it might be best if you pretend to hate John, just for the ceremony."

Roger's face darkened. "Why?"

"We're afraid if Trident suspects you've overcome your own curse, he might be insulted and try to curse you with something more...permanent," Adam explained.

Any trace of excitement that may have remained on Roger's face promptly disappeared. His shoulders slumped as he mumbled, "Oh."  
  
Brian nodded. "It's nothing personal, Rog."

John put a comforting hand on Roger's shoulder and offered him a small smile, along with a few words of lyrical encouragement. _Friends will be friends...right 'til the end._  
  
Roger tried to smile back but it came out as a grimace. "Thanks, Deaky," he muttered, just as a bright white light filled the tiny chapel.

When the light dissipated, everyone beheld Trident standing at the altar, adorned in dazzling white robes, much to Freddie's distress.  
  
"Excuse me, are _you_ the bride?" Freddie fumed. "She's the one who's supposed to be draped in white silk!"  
  
Trident raised his eyebrows, before he nodded coolly to the chapel's entrance. "Did you forget to tell her that?"

Everyone turned to see Ronnie round the corner and approach the aisle, dressed in the complete opposite of white.

"So," Freddie muttered under his breath. "It's to be a _Black_ Wedding then, is it, darling?"  
  
\---  
  
It didn't take particularly long to walk down the small aisle but to Ronnie, it felt like a lifetime.  
  
As she clung to a bouquet of red roses secured with black ribbon (the same ribbon from the bouquet John had once nervously presented to her), she noticed Freddie's scandalized expression and couldn't help a wry smile.   
  
Though Anita and Sarina had found plenty of white gowns in various corners of the castle, Ronnie had refused to wear them. White was reserved for her _real_ wedding day, if she ever was so lucky to have one (which she highly doubted).  
  
And so, she had settled for a resplendent gown of black with a train of interwoven lace that trailed behind her as she traversed the dreaded aisle. The back of the dress was in the style of a corset, tightly laced to accentuate her waist before the folds of silk fell away at her hips, conveniently hiding the fact that she was three months pregnant. Her sleeves fell off her shoulders in wisps of black silk.  
  
Her fingernails were even black.  
  
Ronnie forced herself to look straight at John as she walked down the aisle to him. After all, if they were going to bind themselves in marriage to please this sadistic god, the least she could do was make it look convincing.

John didn't smile as he watched her come to him. The soft curves of his pale cheeks were still and downcast; his irises had darkened to an alarming shade of blood red that complimented his all black wedding attire. His eyes were brimming with a heavy regret, tinged sharply with longing.   
  
He hadn't forgotten this wasn't what she wanted.  
  
Finally arriving at the stained glass window, Ronnie placed her bouquet in Sarina's outstretched hand. The gypsy then stepped aside, ready to fulfill her duty as maid of honor.  
  
Freddie, standing proudly beside John, blinked rapidly, his gaze misty. He may have been the best man at a Black Wedding that was unwanted by the bride and conducted by a vengeful god, but it was still a wedding, nonetheless.  
  
"If you'll join hands, please," Trident said pleasantly.  
  
John held out his hands to Ronnie. She reluctantly placed her own hands lightly on top of his upturned palms.  
  
Trident leaned towards her and said in a low voice, "You're going to have to do a little better than that, sweetheart. No successful union was ever built upon a limp handfast, hmm?"  
  
Ronnie's ever present pregnancy hormones ignited deep within her tired body as she turned to Trident, her eyes flashing dangerously. How she longed to berate him, to tell him none of this would even be necessary if he'd just grow a heart and show a little compassion and...  
  
The candle flames blazed brightly as John demonstrated his own anger. But he reined in his emotions quickly as he laced his fingers through hers, giving them a gentle squeeze in order to pull her attention away from the infuriating god in white.  
  
Producing a fancy scroll with elegant black writing out of thin air, Trident unrolled it and began the ceremony.   
  
Any other betrothed couple would have gazed lovingly into each other's eyes as they patiently waited to be joined in marriage, but Ronnie was finding it increasingly difficult to look at John. As the god's voice echoed off the stone walls, she concentrated on other things, instead.  
  
Like how the moon filtered through the stained glass window to shower the flagstones with beautiful lunar color. And the tear that glimmered in the corner of Freddie's eye as Trident droned on about love and commitment. How her black fingernails perfectly matched John's.  
  
But mostly, how the Trance was beginning to mess with her mind, causing her fingers to go numb with sleepiness.   
  
Ronnie was roughly plucked from her thoughts by Trident's exuberant shout of, "The rings!"  
  
John released her hands to accept a small ring from Freddie. Ronnie felt Sarina press a ring into her own sweaty palm.  
  
"Veronica, do you take thee, John Deacon, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love him and cherish him for forever and a day, to unite your life and body with his?"  
  
Ronnie's eyes widened. _Unite your body with his?_  
  
Feeling as if she needed to ask someone exactly what that meant, she frantically glanced at their small gathering of wedding guests, all of whom were squashed onto the same bench as they stared back at her solemnly (except for Roger, whose face was an astonishing shade of angry plum).  
  
Ronnie infused her gaze with as much accusation as possible. If _unite your body with his_ meant what she thought it did, why had no one bothered to warn her?  
  
Brian was the first to notice the alarm in her eyes. He smiled and offered her a double thumbs up.  
  
As Ronnie was wondering just how exactly that was supposed to make her feel better, Sarina whispered from behind her, "Ronnie, it's all right."   
  
Trident cleared his throat impatiently.   
  
Ronnie turned back to John, opening her mouth to assent, but before she could do so, John's eyes ensnared her.  
  
His irises were still a dark, forbidden red, but they were now ringed with a light yellow, like the hot flame of a candle. Ronnie felt sweat trickle down the middle of her back.  
  
"I..." Ronnie swallowed hard.  
  
"What's that, darlin'?" Trident asked with a frown. "Couldn't quite hear you."  
  
The corner of John's mouth lifted in an almost imperceptible gesture of reassurance, though Ronnie could tell it pained him to even attempt a smile during this agonizingly bitter wedding that he likely _did_ want...  
  
...but not like this.  
  
Ronnie managed to force the words out this time, though it was practically a sob. "I do!"   
  
Trident didn't look impressed. He eyed her suspiciously, as if he didn't quite trust that she was sane, before he raised his hand and wiggled his ring finger, indicating that she was forgetting something.  
  
Grasping John's left hand, Ronnie slid a silver band onto his ring finger. It was actually his own ring, one he had given to Sarina with instructions that it should be used as Ronnie's wedding ring to him.  
  
So she wouldn't have to go through the trouble of finding one elsewhere.  
  
"And John, do you take thee, Veronica Tetzlaff, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love her and cherish her for forever and a day, to unite your life and body with hers?"  
  
John never took his eyes from hers as his voice touched her heart and the flames of the candles danced wildly.  
  
 _"...I do..."_  
  
And, taking her hand in his, he slipped a beautiful silver ring onto her finger. At the ring's center was a sparkling black diamond in the shape of a heart.  
  
Shocked, Ronnie stared at it, her stomach doing a violent flip as she realized he had actually _bought_ her a wedding band. That had to be the explanation for this; he and Freddie had been gone most of the previous day and the ring on her finger was polished so finely that she was certain it had never been worn before...  
  
The thought of what this must have cost him, both financially and emotionally, was Ronnie's undoing. A tear streamed down her face.  
  
"I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. John Deacon!" Trident exclaimed triumphantly. "You may now kiss the bride!"  
  
The small tower was filled with an uncertain silence as John leaned forward and gently kissed Ronnie on the cheek, his lips catching her tear before it could escape. Turning, he fixed Trident with a defiant stare.  
  
The god sighed with obvious disappointment; he had clearly been expecting something a bit more...risque.  
  
"Now," Freddie said, his voice low with warning. "Reverse his curse."  
  
Trident raised his eyebrows. "In a hurry, are we?"  
  
"Do it!" Freddie demanded. "Honor your part of this wretched villainy!"  
  
"Oh, very well," Trident said begrudgingly, before he winked at Ronnie. "I suppose we can't have him looking like a fiery beast on your _wedding night,_ eh?"  
  
Ronnie's vow returned to haunt her, much sooner than she thought it would. _Unite your body with his...  
_  
Angry tears blurred Ronnie's vision as she began to wonder if they really did expect that of her...just like in a _real_ marriage...  
  
The very thought was enough to overwhelm her and send a ripple of fearful anticipation down her spine. Because if John had broken her heart with his actions, surely he would sever it completely with his touch.  
  
And thinking of his long, beautiful fingers, Ronnie covered her mouth with her hand and ran down the aisle.  
  
\---  
  
The Black Queen reached for Ronnie and failed to catch her. Once that much was evident, a low, evil chuckle rumbled deep within Roger's throat.  
  
Sarina turned to stare at him with wide eyes.  
  
Roger shook his head fiercely. What was the matter with him! _Deaky_ had failed to catch Ronnie and it wasn't at all funny!  
  
 _But it sort of is funny, isn't it?_ The paranoia whispered into his ear. _He deserves a whole hell of a lot worse after what he did to you..._  
  
Roger's eyebrows sunk low, hooding eyes that glinted mischievously in the dim light of the chapel. He considered the paranoia's argument as he watched that godly sack of potatoes at the altar surround the Black Queen with shimmering light the color of overripe tangerines.  
  
When the light vanished, the Black Queen's long fangs, irises of fire, and wild hairstyle was gone.  
  
Freddie sighed with unrestrained disappointment as he saw that the sideburns were gone, too.  
  
A spark of relief ignited deep within Roger's chest as he internally cheered, glad that at least one of Deaky's curses was gone, but that feeling was crushed immediately as the paranoia returned with an unforgiving force that was stronger than before.  
  
Roger rubbed his chest uncomfortably. It felt like heartburn. Not to mention it was fucking _exhausting._ He could practically feel himself aging because of it, like some sophisticated foreign cheese.  
  
The moment that feeling abated, Roger catapulted himself off the bench and strode down the aisle towards the exit. He needed to leave before the paranoia returned and made him do something he'd regret.  
  
Before he could round the corner and disappear into the safety of the corridor, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He recognized the long fingers and the gentle grip, he knew exactly who was behind him...  
  
But then the paranoia swept over him and spinning around, Roger seized the front of the Black Queen's shirt and brutally pushed him away. He watched with satisfaction as the Black Queen's back hit the stone wall with a sickening thud.  
  
And then the paranoia was gone and Roger felt Sarina's fingers clamped tightly over his wrist as she pulled him out of the chapel, Trident's laugh echoing in his ears.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is quite dark at the moment but I promise, there's some beautiful moments ahead! Like the next chapter!
> 
> That being said, if you're still reading, thank you!! :)


	21. Chapter 21

Once they were safely out of sight in the corridor, Sarina whirled around and exclaimed, "Roger, what was that all about!"

Roger gazed down into her lovely brown eyes, which were wide with disbelief.  
  
"The hell if I know," he muttered. "All I wanted was to be Deaky's best man and they told me I had to pretend to hate him to please that..." He lowered his voice to a hiss as he thought about Trident. "...that all powerful and mighty _wanker!"_  
  
Sarina's face softened with understanding. "Pretending to dislike John for twenty minutes ignited your curse all over again, didn't it?"

Roger shrugged irritably. "I don't know if the damned curse ever really left!"

"What do you mean by that?" 

Roger ran a hand through his hair. "Sometimes I feel it coming back, but usually I can just think of the good ole' times with Deaky and it goes away. But when they told me I needed to act like I still had it, I just..." Roger sighed. "It became harder to fight it." And feeling the paranoia approaching again, Roger clamped a hand over his heart.  
  
Sarina studied him as he massaged his chest. "Roger, what's wrong with your heart?"  
  
"Nothing!"  
  
Sarina gave him a doubtful look before her hands hovered over the buttons of his black collared shirt. "May I?"  
  
Roger swallowed hard, but nodded and watched as she began unbuttoning.  
  
"Roger."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
Sarina smiled at him. "You don't need to hold your breath. _Breathe."_  
  
Roger exhaled as Sarina opened his shirt to reveal his bare chest. Her fingers found the arrow wound over his left breast immediately; a small round hole that had once been red, but was now black.  
  
She gently ran her thumb over it and Roger shivered.  
  
"It looks like it's healed for the most part," Sarina observed, before she gave him a meaningful look. "On the outside, at least."  
  
No woman had ever looked at Roger with that much sincerity before and it drove him mad with strange and unfamiliar emotions. It wasn't lust; no, whatever this was went much deeper than that. And without quite knowing what he was doing, Roger covered Sarina's hand, still resting lightly on his chest, with his own.  
  
Sarina froze as she felt his heart beat faster beneath her palm. She searched her mind for something witty to say, or even something medically significant, but found she could only stare at their clasped hands and watch as his thumb gently caressed her knuckles.  
  
And then Roger's voice, so uncharacteristically soft, reached for her.  
  
"There's another man, isn't there?"

Sarina's answer stuck in her throat. _Yes. But he's dead._  
  
"Roger, I..."  
  
"If there is, just tell me. Please."  
  
Still holding Roger's heart, yet unable to hold his gaze, Sarina bit her lip. "It...it doesn't matter if there is. The only person I want you to focus on loving is yourself. So that you can beat this."  
  
And just like that, her infinity love remained a secret, securely locked in her soul.  
  
\---  
  
Sarina's answer brought with it such a giant wave of disappointment that Roger feared he would drown in it. Leaning his head back again the rough stone of the wall, he felt his heart constrict painfully and knew the cause of that wasn't the arrow wound.  
  
It was Sarina herself.  
  
And though she had neither confirmed nor denied his suspicion, she had made it clear that she didn't see him as anything more than her problematically cursed friend. That, combined with the frustrating return of the paranoia, was enough for Roger to feel an infuriating prickling sensation in his eyes.  
  
Releasing Sarina's hand, he turned away from her and, gazing down the length of the corridor, found himself staring into Deaky's freshly restored white eyes.  
  
Roger immediately tried to hide his stupid emotions as the paranoia reared it's ugly head. He blinked threateningly, though he was only trying to make his eyes look less glassy. His nostrils flared in warning, though he was merely trying to sniff back the snot that usually so inconveniently accompanies tears.   
  
And he tried to hide his embarrassment by adorning his toughest expression. Because he knew the Black Queen had heard every word that he and Sarina had exchanged. He knew the Black Queen had witnessed every emotion that had passed over his face.  
  
"Roger," Sarina whispered. "Think of a happier time. You've fought this before, you can do it again."  
  
Roger scowled. He didn't need her pity, he could figure this out on his own! And with this thought in mind, his face darkened like a thundercloud as he stormed down the corridor towards the Black Queen.   
  
But when the Black Queen held out his hand, Roger stopped short as he was unexpectedly transported back in time to _years_ ago, to one of the good ole' times...  
  
 _It was late, and hot, and Roger was in a terrible mood.  
_  
 _They hadn't played their best. They hadn't wowed their audience. And as if that wasn't enough shame for one night, some fucking toad had pelted Freddie with a harsh homophobic slur.  
_  
 _Freddie had handled it gracefully, if with a bit of steel in his eyes, but after the show had ended, Roger had stomped off the stage and threw his drumsticks into a pond. And when Brian had berated him for it, he had shouted that it didn't matter anyway because he was going home!  
_  
 _Now, sitting cross-legged in the back of Brian's dad's wagon, Roger dropped his head into his hands. They had only been traveling the land for a few weeks and this was only their first ever tour, they had promised each other they wouldn't expect too much from it, but still! But still...  
_  
 _"Roger!"  
_  
 _Reluctantly looking up from his clenched fingers, Roger saw Freddie standing under the stars in a field of yellow daisies, his arms looped around Brian and Deaky.  
_  
 _"Come now, Roger," Freddie said with an encouraging smile. "Don't be such a wet mitten. Come partake in this healing group hug."  
_  
 _Roger snorted.  
_  
 _Brian sighed. "Roger, you know perfectly well that we can't have a proper band hug without you."  
_  
 _Just as Roger was admitting to himself how true that was, how he really was rather essential, he was caught completely off guard by Deaky, who was lowering his eyebrows threateningly over gray eyes that were bright with mischief. He held out his hand and crooked his finger...once, twice...beckoning Roger to come forward.  
_  
 _Or else, apparently.  
_  
 _Fighting a smile, Roger slid down from the wagon, trudged through the daisies, and delivered himself into his friends' arms.  
_  
 _As Roger disappeared into the very depths of the group hug, Freddie whispered, "Just so you know, darling. You are_ not _leaving us. We'll get you a new set of drumsticks in the morning."_  
  
Back in the corridor of Lambert Castle, the Black Queen's hand was still outstretched. Slowly, he curled it into a fist and crooked his forefinger once, twice...  
  
With a throat that was thick with tears, Roger banished the paranoia back to whence it came and walked into Deaky's embrace, clinging to him as if there had never been a curse at all.  
  
\---  
  
The library door was locked.  
  
Sighing, John tapped his knuckles lightly on the door and when there was no answer, he crouched low and began to tamper with the lock. Though he was sure Ronnie had a perfectly good excuse for claiming the library as her own personal wedding suite, he couldn't retire for the night without making sure she was all right.  
  
The lock gave way with a satisfying click and, pushing the door open, John slowly approached the settee nearest to the fireplace and gazed down upon the face of his _wife.  
_  
There she lay, fast asleep, the dying embers of the hearth casting a soft glow upon her skin. One hand rested upon an open book that was pressed against her chest, her other hand cradled her rounded baby bump. Her reddish-gold curls sheltered her peaceful face, making her seem much younger than she actually was and so very innocent.  
  
She _was_ innocent in this entire bloody travesty, John thought bitterly to himself. Completely innocent, yet here she was, paying for his crimes with her heart.  
  
Kneeling beside her, he tried not to think about how much it had hurt to see her choking on her own tears as she recited her marriage vows to him. How sick it made him that the very thought of their nonexistent bodily union had evoked such an overwhelming sense of fear in her.  
  
Putting aside Ronnie's book, John slipped one arm beneath her knees, using his other arm to support her upper body. And then he lifted her and carried her out of the library, across the entryway, and up the stairs, just like the bride she was. The long, lace train of her dress swept the steps as they ascended higher and higher, eventually reaching the second floor.  
  
She woke just as he was laying her down upon the moonlight that was softly spread across her bed. As she struggled through her sleepy haze and realized where she was, and with _whom,_ panic filled her eyes and she gripped his shoulders tightly. And John was so surprised by this that he froze, bent over her with one knee on the bed and one arm still wrapped around her waist.  
  
"John, please," she whispered.  
  
John stared down at her helplessly as he tried to decipher her plea so he could do as she asked. But, as it were, she was going to have to be a little bit more specific than _please..._  
  
Her fingers tightened, making his deltoid muscles ache. "You promised me you'd make this as painless as possible and that's why I'm begging you. _Please_ don't make me do this."  
  
Cold, crippling realization dug merciless fingers into John's stomach, twisting his gut, setting it on fire.   
  
For so long, he had been keeping a tight hold on his composure, never daring to lose his self-control as he endured the proposal, the days that followed, the wedding, but this...  
  
He couldn't handle the fact that she thought he would have forced her to lie with him as his wife. That she actually believed he had expected that!  
  
Abruptly releasing her, John lit the lamp on the bedside table, snatched a piece of parchment, and scribbled across it with a quill.   
  
_You really thought I'd ask that of you?_  
  
He thrust the paper at her, not bothering to hide his incredulous expression.  
  
As she struggled to a sitting position, Ronnie's brow furrowed with confusion. "But....but Trident said..."  
  
Taking back the parchment, John wrote, with shaking fingers, _Trident is a fool. Consummation of the marriage wasn't in the agreement.  
_  
Relief shone vividly in Ronnie's eyes before it was swiftly extinguished by guilt.   
  
"Oh," she whispered.  
  
John bit down hard on his lower lip, knowing he didn't have long before his emotions conquered his sense; the longer he stayed, the more he risked falling apart right there on Ronnie's bed. And so, he finished writing, underlining something at the very end almost aggressively, and dropping the parchment in Ronnie's lap, he rushed from the room.  
  
\---  
  
As John disappeared, Ronnie picked up the parchment and read his words.  
  
 _I broke the lock and brought you upstairs because it gets cold in the library at night. I thought you'd be warmer here.  
_  
 _I also wanted to thank you for doing this for me._

_I wanted to apologize for putting you through this._

_I wanted to wish you a goodnight._  
  
 _Nothing more._  
  
Ronnie pressed the parchment against her chest as she closed her eyes and allowed herself to be submerged by a fierce wave of misery. She had been so consumed by her own fears that she had failed to see that this arranged marriage was just as difficult for John as it was for her. And she had just done the worst thing she could have done to him.  
  
By thinking he would have forced her to consummate their marriage, she was proving to him that she saw him as a monster. She was confirming his own suspicions that he was was a dangerous beast. And she couldn't let him go to bed thinking that was true.  
  
Taking a deep, shaky breath, she picked up the hem of her black wedding gown, left her moonlit bed behind, and ascended the turret staircase.  
  
When she arrived at John's bedroom door, she lifted her fist and knocked. She wasn't surprised in the least when he didn't answer. He likely didn't want to see her; he probably wouldn't want to see anyone for some time.  
  
She thought long and hard for a reason that would entice John to open his door. It came to her almost instantly as she felt the uncomfortable pressure of her corseted wedding gown.  
  
Putting her lips to the crack of the door, Ronnie said quietly, "John, I need someone to unlace my dress. Everyone else is asleep and the corset could be harmful to the baby if I wore it all night."  
  
It certainly wasn't a lie; the grandfather clock in the hall below had struck midnight just as she had left her room and there were no lights shining under anyone's bedroom doors. And she couldn't imagine waiting until morning to be free of this infernal gown.  
  
It worked. Slowly, John opened the door and, though he refused to look at her, he stepped aside to let her in.  
  
The moment Ronnie entered the room, she was engulfed by a comforting warmth and a soft glow. Apparently, the first thing John had done after he ran from her was light the fireplace.  
  
She vaguely wondered if he had used a match or his magic.  
  
Closing the door behind them, John bowed his head slightly so that his hair shadowed his face. Remembering the reason she had been admitted to the room in the first place, Ronnie obediently turned around and offered him her back.  
  
Soft footsteps echoed in her ears as he approached and moments later, she felt his fingers trailing down her back. She felt an involuntary shiver race down her spine as he took hold of the laces of her dress.   
  
Ronnie forced herself to think straight. She only had so much time; once John was done unlacing her gown, she would be expected to leave and she had to form an apology by then or this all would have been for nothing.  
  
But she was momentarily distracted by John's fingers; though she couldn't see them, she could sense they were trembling violently. He was having a difficult time steadying them long enough to do as she asked; every time he retained a firm grip on the corset, his fingertips would slip and he would have to try again.  
  
And again. And again, and again.  
  
Ronnie looked up into a round, full-length mirror and stared at her own reflection. John briefly looked over her shoulder and the moment his eyes met hers, he ducked his head, hiding his face behind her as he continued to wrestle with her lacings.  
  
But it was too late. Ronnie had already seen the red tear of blood that had slipped down his left cheek. She turned to look at him, an apology already forming on her tongue, but he was faster, spinning around and walking away. He stopped before the fire, folding his arms as he gazed down into it.  
  
Ronnie came forward and tentatively touched his shoulder. "John?"  
  
John's fingers tightened on his upper arms.  
  
Ronnie felt desperation creeping up her throat in the form of tears. "John, why won't you look at me?"  
  
John leaned forward slightly and though she couldn't see him, Ronnie could tell he had dropped his face into his hand.  
  
Gathering her determination, Ronnie quickly stepped around him so that they were face to face. And though John tried to turn away, she prevented him from doing so by grasping his wrists.  
  
John, still covering his face, shook his head, his strained voice pleading with her.  
  
 _I can't take it if you see me cry._  
  
Ronnie felt her heart lurch in her chest. So that's why he had bowed his head, hid his face with his hair, refused to meet her gaze in the mirror, turned away when she tried to confront him. He merely didn't want her to witness his pain.  
  
Wrapping her arms around John's torso, Ronnie leaned her cheek against his shoulder and whispered, "You don't have to worry about that because I can't see you right now."  
  
She hoped he caught her meaning; she hoped he sensed that she was giving him permission to cry because it was his right, more than anyone. She would never understand how he persevered...suffering through impossible curses, prolonged isolation, a lifetime supply of hopelessness, her rejection of his love...  
  
Yet he did and the least he could do for himself was free the weight on his chest that was no doubt smothering him.  
  
John's body shuddered with a single sob as he curled an arm around her. _One_ arm, that is. Ronnie lifted her head to peek up at him and saw that his hand was still clamped to his face, drops of red leaking between his fingers. At this rate, his entire hand would be stained come dawn.  
  
Careful not to look at him, just like she'd promised, Ronnie whispered into his ear, "John, it's all right."  
  
John's arm tightened around her as he projected his voice out into the room with difficulty. The words fell to the floor, like tears.  
  
 _I'm falling apart all around you_  
  
It was so clearly a warning. John was cautioning her, making her aware of what would happen if she allowed him to fall to pieces in her arms. Beside her, the flames of the hearth crackled and sizzled with a ferocious intensity.  
  
In response, Ronnie reached up, pulled his hand away from his face, and wrapped both of his arms firmly around her, not caring in the least that he'd likely drench her dress with blood. He deserved a _shoulder_ to cry on. Not his own palm.  
  
Ronnie pressed her fingertips against the back of his neck, encouraging him to lower his head, teaching him how to surrender. She felt a heavy weight as John finally dropped his forehead against her shoulder and unleashed his sadness. The full force of it made his knees weak and he sunk to the rug with Ronnie in his arms as the fire whipped itself into an angry inferno of blazing oranges and reds.  
  
And even though John was quickly becoming consumed by his despair, he swiftly turned, spinning on his knees so that his back was to the fire, shielding Ronnie from it with his body. The flames continued to writhe and hiss angrily but they miraculously stayed within the stone hearth this time.  
  
Ronnie held on tightly to John as a storm of misery wracked his entire body. His tears rained down on her like a torrential downpour; she felt their warmth as they ran in red rivulets down her back. His sobs shook her body like a frightful wind and his gasps were like thunder in her ear. The way his fingers tightened on her skin made her see lightning but still, she clung to him, determined to weather the storm that he was.  
  
And above all else, Ronnie kept her promise, refusing to look into the eye of the storm...his _own_ eyes...and making sure he was safe in the knowledge that she could not, in fact, see him crying.  
  
As his weeping infiltrated her soul, she dug her fingernails into his shirt, freshly ironed just for the occasion of the wedding from hell, and cried with him.  
  
Maybe this is what the vows had meant by uniting his body with hers. And if it was, she knew she'd do it gladly.  
  
Ronnie wasn't sure how long they stayed like that; she only remembered becoming aware of space and time again when his sobs began to fade away; as he regained control of his emotions, the overbearing heat from the fire began to disappear, the room becoming noticeably cooler.  
  
When the sound of the grandfather clock announcing the one o'clock hour sounded from below, Ronnie gently took John's hand, pulled him to his feet, and led him over to the basin on the bedside table. John, no doubt exhausted from the emotions he had just released, followed blindly, as if he were in a trance.

 _In a trance,_ Ronnie repeated to herself as she dipped a cloth in the basin and rung out the excess water. And that's when she realized that her own Trance had stayed away the entire time she had knelt upon the floor, holding John.

Considering this thoughtfully, Ronnie unbuttoned John's shirt with deft fingers, slipping it over his shoulders and down his arms so that she could wash the blood from his hands, his face, his collarbone. As she did so, she noticed how John's hair once more fell in soft black waves to his shoulders. His eyes were pinpricked with blood but they were devoid of fire. His jaw was smooth now that the sideburns had disappeared and his fangs were tucked safely in a mouth that was downturned with anguish.  
  
And though darkening shades of blue and purple bruises ran down his back (courtesy of Roger's paranoia curse, Ronnie would later learn), the black wound over his heart was gone.  
  
Trident had actually been true to his word. John was free from the alcohol curse.  
  
The very thought filled Ronnie with an overwhelming feeling of hope and for the first time, she knew marrying John had been the right decision, if only to save him from at least one of his curses.  
  
As she put the cloth aside and washed her own blood streaked hands in the basin of water, Ronnie felt John's gaze upon her. She looked up at him and watched as he slowly twirled his finger in the air, indicating she should turn around.   
  
She did as he asked and found herself once more staring at her reflection in the mirror as his fingers fumbled with the corset backing of her dress. Finally, he was able to dig his long fingers between the laces.  
  
Ronnie watched John's face carefully as he unlaced her dress. His eyes were lowered, he was wearing a frown of such bitter intensity, and his shoulders were slumped in defeat. All these things told her that he was still feeling so very lost.  
  
And he couldn't hide it from her anymore.  
  
Ronnie clasped her hands together nervously, knowing there was a way she could soothe his spirit...by telling him the truth. She had never planned to say it aloud but after being swept away in his flood of anguish tonight, how could she not?  
  
As John finished unlacing her, freeing her ribs from the corset's constraint, Ronnie caught the dress before it could fall and whispered, "John?"  
  
John, still standing behind her, glanced up and met her gaze in the mirror. His eyes searched hers.

"I won't leave you to grieve alone on our wedding night," she said quietly. "I'll stay...if you want me to."  
  
John stared at her before his brow softened and his lips lifted into a small smile of gratitude as he nodded. Reaching for the cloth, he washed his blood from Ronnie's shoulder and upper back and handed her one of his shirts. And then he climbed onto his bed and turned away to give her a bit of privacy.  
  
The shirt fell comfortably to her knees, a perfect makeshift nightgown, though the scent of the fabric was intimate because it smelled just like _him_. But as Ronnie crawled onto the bed, she found she really didn't mind.  
  
John tucked his hands shyly in his lap, assuring her with his actions that she was safe in his bed.  
  
Feeling nervous butterflies battering her belly with their tiny wings, Ronnie said very softly, "John, I need to tell you something."  
  
John waited patiently.  
  
"That day you overheard me say those things to Freddie..." Ronnie bit her lip. "They...they weren't true."  
  
John's knit his eyebrows together as he processed her confession.  
  
"I only said all that because I was trying to protect myself after learning I was..." Ronnie trailed off as she placed a hand on her growing belly.  
  
John's gaze followed her hand and rested on her stomach, along with her fingers.  
  
She had intended to stop there and say no more, but before she knew it, the truth was pouring out of her like a swift river and she was powerless to stop it.  
  
"And I'm sorry you had to hear me say those things and I'm sorry I didn't tell you the truth right away! I'm sorry if I made things difficult for you, I'm sorry that I ran into the northern woods without thinking and risked our lives, I'm sorry that I wore black tonight, I'm sorry that I thought you expected me to...to..."  
  
John reached out and placed a hand over hers, shaking his head, letting her know that no apology was needed. _I've only got myself to blame.  
  
_ "That's not true!" Ronnie protested.  
  
John's free hand gently prodded the abrasion on her arm, his eyes filled with regret.  
  
"Oh John," Ronnie whispered. "I know you didn't do that on purpose. I know you were just trying to save me from the fire that night."  
  
Relief flashed through John's white eyes. Knowing it was very possible that her next revelation would obliterate that relief, Ronnie plowed on, desperate for him to know everything.  
  
"But John, even if I do feel the same as you, I'm not ready for a...a relationship."  
  
John quickly released her hand, but Ronnie caught it and held it tightly between her own. "I don't know if I will _ever_ be ready for a relationship. But know this. I will _always_ be your friend."  
  
John stared at their interlocked fingers before his words, so much softer than usual, stirred her hair.

_I know that you gotta be free_

Ronnie smiled sadly, grateful that he understood.   
  
And figuring that was quite enough turmoil for one night, Ronnie turned off the bedside lamp and gently tugged John down beside her. As he covered them both with a blanket, Ronnie watched the flames of the now tame fire throwing larger than life shadows upon the wall and marveled at how much _lighter_ her heart felt.  
  
She fervently hoped that John felt the same.  
  
"Goodnight John," she whispered.  
  
The last thing she remembered before sleep claimed her was John squeezing her hand in response.  
  
\---  
  
Undeniable pressure on Ronnie's bladder woke her only a few hours later. Mentally groaning, Ronnie rolled out of the comfortable bed and dragged herself down the stairs to the bathroom.  
  
When she was quite finished, she paused outside her bedroom door. She had reconciled with John and he was fast asleep; there was really no reason she couldn't spend the rest of the night (or morning, rather, for it was the end of the witching hour) in her own bed.  
  
And yet, instead of returning to her room, Ronnie found herself creeping back up the turret staircase, tiptoeing across the cold floorboards, and crawling back into John's bed.  
  
Curling herself against his side, she allowed the warmth of John's body to invade her as she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.  
  
 **February 14th**  
  
Valentine's Day dawned cold and bright and Ronnie had a special date with none other than...  
  
...the dew glistened library window.  
  
After all, there was nowhere to go and no one to see and the majority of the castle (with the exception of Anita and Brian, who were already trading shy glances of longing) had decided to treat it as any other day.  
  
The atmosphere in the castle had lightened noticeably as January turned into February and the winter storms ebbed and flowed. Anita and Brian continued to grow closer, Sarina and Roger continued to avoid one another, and Freddie and Adam became two musical peas in a pod.  
  
And Ronnie and John began the slow (and quite frankly sort of wonderful) journey to becoming the best of friends. This time, there were no helping hands and there were certainly no trust exercises. It was entirely on their own terms.  
  
But Ronnie had made it perfectly clear that, even though they were technically husband and wife, they could never act as such and so best friends they'd remain. And though John hadn't given her any reason to believe he'd try to claim her as his valentine, Ronnie still found herself spending quality time with the cold window panes instead of him.  
  
But John had other plans.  
  
Sighing, Ronnie propped her elbows on the windowsill and let her chin fall into her hands, thinking to herself that this is likely what Freddie would call the infernal hell pit of boredom. She was saved by said hell pit by a soft knock on the open door.  
  
Looking over her shoulder, Ronnie couldn't help but smile when she saw John in the doorway, his cloak fastened at his neck and his hands clad in tight leather gloves, which creaked as he crooked his finger, inviting her to come to him as he stared at her from under his darkly arched eyebrows.  
  
Gladly leaving the window behind, Ronnie took his outstretched hand, her heart beating faster at the prospect of an adventure.  
  
\---  
  
Valentine's Day it was, yet it didn't bother Ronnie when John took her by the waist and lifted her onto Lily's back. She didn't mind in the slightest when he wrapped his arms around her from behind and held her tightly against him as Lily spread her wings and flew them into the sky. She didn't even care when, once they had reached their destination, John's fingers accidentally brushed her pregnant belly as he delivered her safely to the ground.  
  
No, the part that distressed her wouldn't come until later.  
  
Taking a few tentative steps forward, Ronnie's eyes widened as she beheld the giant hedgerow of glistening silver that towered over her and stretched to the left and to the right as far as the eye could see. Ronnie leaned closer to see the words that were carved into a large white rock near the oval entrance that was cut into the hedge.  
  
 **The Dungeon  
  
** That may have been the hedgerow's name, but a dungeon it certainly was not. It was a labyrinth!  
  
Ronnie turned to John, her eyes sparkling, as she realized why he had brought her here. Blushing, John looked away as the corner of his mouth twitched into a smile.  
  
Knowing she was hopelessly bored at the castle, John had brought her to this labyrinth to complete another of her coming-of-age journey tasks.  
  
 _Solve the labyrinth for life itself is a maze that you will need to learn to conquer in your own time._  
  
Barely able to contain her excitement, Ronnie was about to rush headlong into the maze when she felt a hand on her shoulder.  
  
Turning, she saw John was staring down at her, his white eyes shadowed with concern. And that's when she knew that he recognized he could not come with her; this was something she had to figure out on her own.  
  
 _You know where I will be,_ his voice reminded her, indicating that if she should lose her way, she only had to call his name.  
  
Ronnie smiled softly and nodded. And then she ran through the ovular entrance of the hedge.  
  
The satisfying sound of her boots crunching in the snow filled her ears as she mastered dizzying twists and unexpected turns. The beauty that surrounded her as she conquered dead ends lifted her spirits. She was quite enjoying being encased in a winter wonderland of icy silver.  
  
Time ran away from her and when she finally caught up with it, she realized she was three quarters of the way through the labyrinth. And that's when the pain hit her like a brick.  
  
Ronnie stopped in her tracks as a sharp ache zigzagged through her rounded belly. And though she tried to ignore it by taking another step, the pain pushed harder and deeper as it circled her hips to light a fire in her lower back.  
  
Breathless by the sheer force of it, she dug her fingers into the cold, feathery hedge and sunk to her knees. She promised herself that she would rest, and the pain would pass, and then she would solve the labyrinth.  
  
Empty promises, that's all they were. Because though the pain began to fade, it soon returned with a burning intensity.  
  
That's when Ronnie threw her head back and shouted John's name. Curled against the hedge, she waited miserably, hoping her footprints in the snow would help him find her faster.  
  
The cold air that surrounded her disappeared as she was swept into a pair of warm arms. Ronnie murmured into John's ear, telling him about her pain, about her fear, about how she couldn't leave without vanquishing the maze.  
  
John sat himself cross-legged in the snow and pulling Ronnie closer, lowered her onto his lap. She straddled him uncertainly, though that awkward feeling vanished as the pain thrumming forcefully through her body demanded her attention. And not caring how intimate the position was, she looped her arms around John's neck and buried her face in his shoulder.  
  
Through the discomfort, she was aware of John's hands sliding beneath her cloak. He pressed his palms against her lower back and within moments, Ronnie felt heat radiating from his fingers, infiltrating her clothes and her skin to gently sear her aching muscles.  
  
As John's magic spread from her back to her belly and soothed her pain, she sighed in relief and clung to him like a sloth to a tree branch.   
  
Later that night, Sarina would tell her that she had nothing to fear. She had only experienced early contractions, which quite commonly began in the fourth month of pregnancy...which Ronnie was quickly approaching.  
  
But safely clasped in John's arms in the labyrinth, Ronnie didn't know that. In that moment, all she knew was how much she needed him.  
  
She needed him to cradle her heart against his own, she needed him to soothe her physical pain, she needed him to rescue her from the labyrinth.  
  
And that's what distressed her the most that Valentine's Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Such an important chapter for John and Ronnie! I'd love to know what you guys thought about it; any feedback is greatly appreciated!


	22. Chapter 22

**Late February  
**  
And yet, after that, nothing changed...at first.  
  
John helped Ronnie to her feet, brushed the excess snow from her cloak, and escorted her through the remaining winding turns of the labyrinth. That night, back in the safety of the castle, he patiently sat by her side as Sarina explained the normalcy of the contractions and how it was her body's way of preparing for birth.  
  
And thus, John and Ronnie settled back into their comfortable, friendly relationship but even so, Ronnie sought Sarina's guidance in controlling the contractions so that she'd never have to rely on John and his magic to ease her pain again. So he'd never have the opportunity to hold her like that again.  
  
Because _friends_ didn't hold each other like they had, not even best friends.  
  
\---  
  
It was a cold, windy night, dominated by bursts of snow as winter fitfully tried to get one last storm in before spring arrived. Ronnie was lounging upon her bed with John as they read, surrounded by the soft light of a dozen candles.  
  
"Reading together before bed," Freddie's voice observed.  
  
John and Ronnie looked up to see the vocalist leaning against the doorframe, his eyes sparkling.  
  
"Just like a fuddy old married couple would," he declared.  
  
Ronnie felt John's shoulders shake with a silent snort of laughter. She whipped around to catch the smile that lit up his pale face whenever he allowed himself to laugh like that; sightings of it were rare and not to be missed.  
  
Freddie turned to direct an inquisitive question into the darkness of the hall. "Nothing as romantic as a thunderstorm, wouldn't you say, Roger?"  
  
Roger's reply was terse. "I wouldn't know, Freddie! I've never been lucky enough to experience romance!"  
  
With a sigh, Freddie bid them goodnight, and Ronnie and John exchanged amused glances.  
  
As the storm raged on, Ronnie imagined the fat flakes of snow accumulating outside, cloaking the turrets of the castle in wintry white. A howling gust of wind whipped itself around the spires and rattled the windowpanes, sending a shiver down Ronnie's spine. Glad she wasn't alone, she glanced over at John to see what he was making of this rather dramatic tempest.  
  
But it appeared the storm was the last thing on his mind.  
  
He was clutching his red leatherbound book in a white-knuckled grip as he stared at it, a pained expression turning his soft features to stone.  
  
Ronnie nudged him gently with her shoulder. "Your book must be awfully thought provoking."  
  
At the sound of her voice, John instantly hid his distress with an unconvincing smile that never reached his eyes. He nodded in vague agreement as he rose from the bed and prepared to wish her a goodnight.   
  
The wind blew hard and fast, shrieking in apparent fury as the castle windows prevented it from entering the stone sanctuary.  
  
"John?" Ronnie whispered, as the unearthly sound pierced her very soul. "P-perhaps you could stay with me just a little bit longer?"  
  
John's gaze softened as he stared down at her and perceived her childlike fear of the storm. Sinking back upon the bed, he leaned against the pillows but he did not open his book again.  
  
Ronnie watched as he ran his thumb over the gold lettering engraved on the cover, which proclaimed the title was _Curses Throughout Time._ She wondered what he had found within those pages to dishearten him so.  
  
Eventually, the whistling of the wind through the trees, along with John's calming presence, lulled Ronnie into the gentlest of sleeps.  
  
The room was darker when she woke a few short hours later, for half of the candles had snuffed themselves out, but there was still enough light to see that John had remained beside her, fast asleep.  
  
And that her hand was in his.  
  
John was lying flat on his back, and Ronnie was facing him, yet those positions combined to make the perfect handfast. Apparently, John's hand had been lying invitingly palm up between them and Ronnie's own palm had unconsciously - and so naturally - pressed itself against his.  
  
Ronnie imagined that John's fingers had slowly bent at her touch, lacing her fingers tightly between his as he captured her knuckles, holding them safe against the drafty night air.  
  
With her heart in her throat, Ronnie slowly looked from their interlocked fingers to John's face and marveled at how peaceful this queen of the night looked in slumber. With closed eyes hiding his blatantly white gaze, she could almost forget he was cursed.  
  
Ronnie sighed. _Untangle your fingers from his,_ she warned herself. _Put a few inches of space between your bodies._  
  
But instead of heeding her own warning, she closed her eyes. After all, she wouldn't want her hand to get cold.  
  
As sleep began to gradually pull her back beneath the waves of consciousness, she felt John's fingers gently squeezing her own.  
  
 **Early March  
**  
A tuneless strumming, followed by a cry of frustration from Brian's bedroom, was the reason Sarina decided to momentarily delay her journey to her bedroom. Raising her eyebrows in concern, she tiptoed to the bedroom door in question, which was partially open.  
  
"No, no, _no!"_ Roger was exclaiming as he hovered over Brian, who was sitting cross-legged upon the bed with his peculiar skull guitar in his lap.  
  
Brian rolled his eyes. "Would you stop shouting! You know I can't help it!"  
  
"Brian, it can't be that difficult to play the tune I just showed you! A child could do it!"  
  
"It's very difficult, actually," Brian retorted. "In fact, I'm sure it's impossible. The curse stripped me of my musicality, Roger!"  
  
Roger's folded his arms. "You know it's not impossible because I overcame my own curse. And I'm not going to let you give up."  
  
Brian sighed. "Very well."  
  
Adorning a longsuffering expression, Roger placed Brian's long fingers back on the strings.  
  
Sarina smiled to herself as the sound of discordant musical notes that sounded nothing like music filled the room. Roger winced at the noise but continued to nod in encouragement.  
  
As Sarina observed them, she thought to herself that Roger was almost exactly like a hardboiled egg. He liked to showcase his tough, white shell but on the inside...  
  
...on the inside he was rather warm and soft, wasn't he?  
  
The awkward twanging of strings suddenly stopped as Brian noticed her.  
  
"Hullo, Sarina!" he said enthusiastically.  
  
At the sound of her name, Roger looked up quickly. The determination in his eyes was immediately replaced by confusion as he was hit in the heart by the warmth of her smile.  
  
His eyes seemed to cry out to her, _Why? Why look at me like that when the only person you want me to focus on loving is myself?_  
  
Realizing she had let her guard down, Sarina turned and dashed down the hall, the smile slipping off her face and landing on the stone floor of the corridor. She didn't stop to pick it up; she barely even breathed until she had shut her bedroom door and rested her forehead against it.  
  
Only then did she allow herself to comprehend how close she had been to showing Roger the truth she had so carefully tried to hide for months...  
  
...that somehow, Roger had made her believe that love after death was possible.   
  
She didn't know how he had managed to do that; all she knew was that his jokes made her laugh, his touch made her weak, and when she looked into his eyes, she could see forever.  
  
The only thing standing in the way of that forever was...herself.  
  
Sarina lightly brushed her fingertips against the _infinity love_ tattoo that was inked upon her forearm as her heart slowly warmed to the possibility of telling Roger how she felt. It didn't mean they had to be together, it didn't mean she'd be betraying her infinity love. It only meant that she'd be setting herself free from the shackles of a hidden love.  
  
And besides, Roger didn't deserve her silence.  
  
 **That Evening**  
  
He was stirring as if his very life depended on it.  
  
Leaning in the doorway of the kitchen, Sarina observed with a heavy heart as Roger used a large wooden spoon to mix the ingredients of the simmering pot into submission. His face was an impassive mask, devoid of emotion, as he showed the pot's contents no mercy.  
  
And yet, the overwhelming force Roger was using to blend herbs and tomatoes was out of proportion to the task at hand. That, as well as the occasional way his upper lip twitched, were indications that he was, in fact, feeling quite miserable.  
  
This notion was confirmed when he glanced up to find Sarina watching him...again.  
  
Roger's guard was already down and there was no time to assemble his inner forces, to order them to adorn armor and unsheathe swords and put that damned barricade back up around his heart. And so, he unexpectedly succumbed to his shock by promptly dropping the heavy pot onto the ground.  
  
As bubbling sauce streaked the gray stone of the floor with a deep red, Roger hissed through his teeth and ran trembling hands through his hair. Dropping swiftly to his knees, he tried to spoon the hot sauce back into the pot.   
  
It was more of an attempt to avoid Sarina's eyes than it was a desire to actually clean up and Sarina knew this. Wishing to spare him any further embarrassment, she walked barefoot through the sauce as if it wasn't even there and crouched beside him.  
  
Roger tossed the useless spoon over his shoulder, scooped up a handful of rapidly cooling sauce, and flung it into the pot with a resounding _thwack._ "I hope Brian likes ancient dirt in his Bolognese."  
  
Sarina seized his hands before he could continue his attack upon that evening's dinner. The warmth of the sauce permeated her skin as she trapped wayward tomato chunks between their palms.  
  
"I owe you an explanation," she whispered.  
  
Roger allowed her to hold his hands, to keep him glued to the floor as Bolognese seeped into the soft leather of his pants, but he didn't permit a reaction to pass across his face.  
  
"There's a reason I've been shielding myself from you," Sarina continued as she held his eyes captive. "There's a reason I've been avoiding your company, your touch... _you."_  
  
She took a deep breath, ready to set her secret free.  
  
"There _is_ another man, Roger. But he's _dead."  
_  
Shock danced in the piercing blue of Roger's irises as he tried to comprehend what she was telling him.  
  
Now that she had his attention, Sarina freed his hands and fell to her hip as she stared down at the river of sauce that she had inadvertently planted her palm in.  
  
"He was the love of my life," she said quietly. "And we were supposed to spend forever together. And then he..." She swallowed a sob. "...he _died_ and I swore to myself that I'd never love anyone ever again. And for five years, I succeeded."  
  
Sarina lifted her head as her eyes fixed Roger with gentle accusation. "And then I met you."  
  
Roger must have sensed exactly where this was going, for he pushed the pot away and inched closer to her.  
  
"And _you_ awoke all those dormant feelings, _you_ threatened my sense of security, _you_ turned my entire world upside down."  
  
Accepting full responsibility for these actions, Roger reached out and gently ran his thumb across her cheek, leaving a smudge of red behind as he captured a stray tear. The tear (a secret ingredient, if ever there was one) trickled down his palm to mingle with the red sauce that stained his skin.  
  
"And I tried to distance myself from you, I tried to fight everything I was feeling, but Roger, I can't! I can't push you away anymore, but I can't let go of _him,_ either."   
  
Sarina let out a hopeless sob as her hand folded into a fist. Crushing roasted tomatoes and herbs within her grasp was oddly comforting. "I'm willing to try, but you need to promise me something in return."  
  
"Anything," Roger said determinedly.  
  
"You can't leave me like he did," Sarina said softly, before she crumpled, allowing Roger to catch her and gather her into the sweetest hug she had ever received.  
  
"Never," he whispered fiercely into Sarina's ear as she wept into his shoulder. "I will never, _ever_ leave you."  
  
It wasn't until the sauce was cold as stone and the kitchen had gone dark with evening shadows that Sarina finally lifted her head and pressed her forehead against Roger's.  
  
"Give me until the spring equinox," she said. "And then I'll be yours."  
  
\---  
  
That night, after a spontaneous dinner of stale bread and rich chocolate cake had replaced Roger's ruined Bolognese, Sarina lit a candle under watch of the rounded sphere of the moon and waited.  
  
The expected knock on her door came at the allocated time; as the grandfather clock in the hallway struck midnight, Sarina opened her door and welcomed Adam into her room.  
  
He held up the thick spellbook. "As requested. What kind of spell do you seek?"  
  
Sarina almost lost her nerve before she could utter the words. But all she had to do was remember Roger, standing behind her at the kitchen sink and laughing as he scrubbed red Bolognese sauce off her hands.   
  
She knew she was doing the right thing.  
  
"Adam," she whispered as she put her hand over his on the spellbook's leatherbound cover. "I need a spell to contact the dead."  
  
 **A Week Later  
**  
In retrospect, Adam would later tell himself he should never have gone to the window. But the lightning bolt that was piercing the night sky, courtesy of spring's early invasion, was so exquisite that he just had to get a closer look.   
  
However, the moment he pressed his forehead against the cold glass panes, he was struck by something so much worse than lightning.  
  
The fact that there was a ghost in the courtyard.  
  
Silhouetted by a soft sheet of rain, the ghost turned to look up at the second story window that Adam was standing in. Swiftly dropping into a very low crouch, Adam hoped he hadn't been seen.  
  
But as he peered over the windowsill and down into the yard, he found himself staring directly into the ghost's familiar eyes.  
  
Adam blinked once, twice, hoping to dispel the vision, but it was no use. The ghost was real; Adam knew it wasn't a hallucination born of too much wine because he could see the tangible evidence of footprints there in the intermingled slosh of snow and mud.  
  
The ghost carefully lifted the crown from his head, never tearing his sad eyes away from Adam's. His tired expression faded ever so slightly as the corner of his mouth lifted into a smile.  
  
Adam's fingers tightened on the windowsill. The last time he'd seen that smile, he'd been a very small child.  
  
"Adam?"  
  
Adam spun around to find Anita gazing down at him with a concerned expression.  
  
"What are you doing on the floor?" she whispered.  
  
Adam glanced out the window again but the ghost was gone. Anita also peered into the night, a flash of lightning showing her the footprints in the muddy snow that were already disappearing.  
  
Adam let out a frustrated sigh as he ran a hand through his dark brown hair. "It's nothing."  
  
Anita's expression clearly said she didn't believe him but she merely offered him a smile that was suffused with warmth as she took his hand and enthusiastically pulled him toward the staircase.   
  
"Come! We're all going to watch the storm together."  
  
\---  
  
Ronnie listened as Anita and Adam's footsteps disappeared down the staircase before she turned her attention back to the gathering storm. Curled upon an armchair she had dragged over to the window, she had every intention of watching mother nature's fury alone.  
  
Loud whispers of anticipation and the tantalizing scent of the popcorn Roger was preparing drifted beneath Ronnie's bedroom door but she only burrowed deeper into her chair. No, it was best they enjoyed the show without her.  
  
The past week's spring thunderstorms had brought with it a surge in Ronnie's pregnancy hormones. And thus, an unexplainable despair had planted itself within her heart, a desperate feeling that grew stronger each day.  
  
 _Stop it!_ Ronnie would plead helplessly with herself. _There's really no reason to cry..._  
  
It was true that she was miles away from home, pregnant by the magic touch of her best friend, and terrified of the prospect of telling her parents she was with child, but none of this was _new._ Nothing had actually changed; there was no reason for her to feel as if the storm was inside her, instead of safely outdoors.  
  
And yet, her mood was blacker than the thunderclouds that were currently blanketing the night sky.   
  
A soft tap on the door warned her that someone was worried about her.  
  
"Come in," she said, dismayed to find her voice was shaking.  
  
The door creaked open as someone entered the room. Looking over her shoulder, Ronnie wished she had thought to light a candle or turn on a lamp so she could see who her visitor was.  
  
But there wouldn't have been any need for light, for Ronnie saw a pair of stark white eyes glowing in the darkness. As the floorboards groaned under John's weight, the glowing orbs grew closer and closer until they were hovering above her.  
  
Ronnie stared up at John as she hunched her shoulders, trying to appear smaller and wishing the chair would swallow her whole.   
  
_Don't cry,_ she warned herself. _If you cry, he'll hold you._  
  
And she couldn't risk being held again, not like that day in the labyrinth, because she was certain it would spark forbidden feelings that would no doubt destroy the beautiful friendship they had so carefully constructed.  
  
And yet, no matter how much distance Ronnie had created between them, her love for John kept sprouting deep within her, like long, insufferable weeds that returned no matter how many times she yanked them from her heart.  
  
John knelt before her, studying her face carefully as he tried to decipher her pain. She bowed her head, her curls stubbornly hiding her expression.  
  
She felt his fingertips, soft on her face as he slipped his fingers up the length of her cheeks to rest in the roots of her hair. The action forced her to look up at him in the gentlest way possible and as she stared into the bottomless depths of his luminous eyes, she allowed him to see her misery and she anxiously waited for him to embrace her.  
  
But he didn't.  
  
Instead, he grasped her hands, pulled her from the chair, and walked backwards across the room as he led her to the door, assuring her with those strange unearthly eyes that even if she wouldn't tell him what was wrong, he'd still try to soothe her distress.  
  
Apparently by means of distraction. And for that, Ronnie was grateful.  
  
\---  
  
"It's only hormones, love," Sarina whispered to Ronnie as thunder rumbled in the distance. "It's completely natural to feel this way."  
  
Safely squashed between Sarina and John on a settee in the cozy, dimly lit library, Ronnie nodded, though she couldn't bring herself to smile. She was spared the effort by an exclamation from Roger.  
  
"You look like you've seen a ghost!" he blatantly pointed out as Adam stepped into the light of the blazing hearth, showing his new friends his pale face, punctured by a frown that revealed he was uncharacteristically unnerved.  
  
It was merely meant to be a form of expression, but Adam's widened eyes proved there was a grain of truth in it. Freddie quickly shook his head in warning at Roger.  
  
Roger ignored him and addressed Adam once more. "You mean you _have_ seen a ghost?"   
  
An especially deafening clap of thunder echoed off the castle walls. Already chilled by the news of a potentially recent ghost sighting, Ronnie unintentionally jumped into John's arms with a frightened gasp.   
  
"Where?" Roger demanded. "Where did you see him?"  
  
"In the courtyard," Adam reluctantly replied.  
  
Ronnie blushed miserably as she carefully extracted herself from John; he reluctantly released her, though she could still feel his concerned gaze, hot as fire upon her cheek.  
  
Sarina put a comforting hand over Ronnie's as she asked, "Did he have a crown, Adam?"  
  
"And was he sad?" Anita asked in a hushed voice.  
  
A strange look passed over Adam's face. "How did you know that?"  
  
"Because we've seen him, too," Anita confirmed.  
  
"You mean the ghost has been lurking here this entire time?" Adam asked incredulously.  
  
"I don't believe he's ever been seen at the castle before..." Brian glanced around the room for confirmation.  
  
Sarina nodded in agreement. "Ronnie and I saw him at his tomb before we came to the castle. John saw him in the northern woods in January."  
  
Her words lit an anguished fire within Adam's eyes. "He was in the northern woods?"  
  
John nodded as an unsettling silence fell over the library. Sarina bravely shattered it by aiming a significant question in Adam's direction.  
  
"You know him, don't you? The ghost..."  
  
As Adam's gaze fell captive to the black shadows that were dancing upon the walls, Freddie strolled over to the ornate sideboard and poured a generous glass of wine.  
  
"You better tell them, darling," he said, handing Adam the glass. "While I can read your mind like a trashy romance paperback, they can't."  
  
Adam sighed. "Yes, I know him."  
  
"How?" Roger asked curiously.  
  
Adam drained the wine all at once and set his glass on the oval table beside him. "He was sort of my...dad."  
  
Roger frowned. "Sort of?"  
  
Brian's eyebrows shot straight into his curly bangs. "Great King Rat was your dad?"  
  
Thunder roared in warning as Adam lifted his face to reveal eyes that were a deep, infinite blue. "Yes. And he went mad after he failed to save my mother from the northern woods."  
  
Roger pulled his bowl of popcorn closer as everyone leaned closer to hear Adam's theatric fireside tale. Freddie offered Adam another glass of wine and he accepted it, grateful for something that would assist him in powering through his distressing family history.   
  
"My father came from a long line of royalty that ruled this castle for centuries. He held court here with my mother as his queen...until she died."  
  
The sadness in the pit of Ronnie's stomach began to bubble to a boiling heat as she observed the haunted look that lurked deep within Adam's eyes.  
  
"I was a child the night she fought with my father and wandered into the northern woods," Adam continued. "It was a stormy night, much like tonight, which prevented my father from finding her as quickly as he otherwise would have. Her greatest desire claimed her life. To this day I wonder what she saw that was so wonderful."  
  
Ronnie suddenly felt very cold, as if the ghost of Great King Rat had walked right through her.  
  
"Racked with guilt and despair, my father couldn't rule," Adam explained in a voice that was sore with bitterness. "The kingdom fell to pieces. He dismissed the staff and left to go to who the hell knows where. On the way, he entrusted me to an adopted mother. I never saw him again."  
  
Ronnie felt John shifting restlessly beside her, likely remembering how he had lost his father at a young age, as well.  
  
Adam tipped his head back to empty his second glass of wine before he said, "Elektra was my adopted mother."  
  
"The goddess!?" Freddie exclaimed, excitement dilating his pupils, like a cat's.  
  
Adam nodded. "My family's had a relationship with the gods for as long as I can remember. Elektra raised me and told me I had the capacity for magic, the seed of a warlock, and she taught me everything I know. That's how I came to meet Trident. His adopted son became my best friend."  
  
As everyone quietly absorbed Adam's story, the pregnancy hormones struck, coming for Ronnie like a snake out of the darkness. She blinked back an oncoming stream of tears. "I'm sorry, Adam."  
  
Alarm briefly flashed through Adam's eyes, before he leaned forward and took her hand.  
  
"Honey, no," he said softly. "Don't be sorry. It was very long ago. Nothing but ancient history."  
  
A heavy silence fell over the room. As Roger munched on a wayward popcorn kernel and contemplated the danger of desires and magical forests, he turned to John.  
  
"Speaking of the northern woods, Deaky, you never told us what desire you had to fight to save Ronnie that day."  
  
Caught completely off guard by Roger's bold statement, John's white gaze flitted around the room like a caged bird as he tried to evade the question. And yet, he could do no such thing. Before he could stop himself, his gaze landed on Ronnie's rounded belly and slowly roamed over the curve of her baby bump and up her torso to capture her lovely, startled eyes.  
  
And then, realizing that he had made it very clear what he had desired more than anything (and what could have potentially trapped him in the woods forever), John turned away and shielded his eyes with his hand.  
  
As his pale cheeks burned red, everything hit Ronnie at once. The completely tragic nature of Adam's past, the monumental (though not exactly surprising) realization that John still loved her so, the guilt that accompanied the completely new revelation that John wanted their child...  
  
And underlying all this, the simmering, raging hormonal volcano that sat atop the mountain of her heart, threatening to erupt at any moment.  
  
This moment, to be exact.  
  
"Excuse me," Ronnie whispered, before she bolted from the settee. She lost her balance as she bumped into John's knees; he looked up and reached out to steady her but she dodged his hands and fled from the room, bursting into tears the moment she reached the entryway.  
  
Up the stairs and down the hall Ronnie ran, until she was crawling on her hands and knees through the tiny passageway and stumbling up the stone steps to the tiny chapel.  
  
Falling to her knees at the very altar where Trident had pronounced her Mrs. John Deacon, Ronnie wept for Adam, for John, and for herself.  
  
\---  
  
John's fingers burned.  
  
As he slipped his hands into the basin of cool water, he waited for the shock to evaporate into relief. And then he sighed, wondering if Ronnie had returned to her room to find his apology gift.  
  
He hadn't meant to set his desire free in front of everyone in the library. It had been his intention to keep it locked within his heart for all time and yet, the moment Roger had posed his question, John's eyes had been drawn to Ronnie like a magnet.   
  
It was already difficult enough concealing his feelings from her while spending so much time with her, yet he had managed...until that moment. And then he had unwittingly exposed everything he felt for her by first looking at her pregnant belly...  
  
...and then directly into her eyes, brimming with forceful tears.  
  
John winced at the memory. She had run from the room then, so clearly overwhelmed, and he had dropped to his knees before the hearth as his love for her wrestled with his guilt for reminding her of that love, when he knew that _her_ desire was to be his friend, and _only_ his friend.  
  
And that's when he had begun to play with fire.  
  
As his friends watched in hushed silence, John had thrust his trembling hands into the hearth, manipulating the hot air over the flames with his fingers.  
  
"John?" Adam whispered. "John, are you sure you're ready for this?"   
  
John nodded. He and Adam had been studying this magical feat for weeks and what better time to try than now, when he desperately needed to create something beautiful enough to make Ronnie forget everything that was troubling her.  
  
He had failed the first few times but by the end of an hour, he had six fire roses smoldering in his hands. They were warm to the touch and gave off the unconventional fragrance of campfire, but he was silently proud of them.  
  
The stems were black as soot, as was the rounded base of the rose itself. But the black faded almost immediately to reveal petals of vibrant red and dusky orange, rimmed at the top with a sparkling, black dust.  
  
As everyone around the fire gasped in surprise (Freddie had even offered him a round of applause), John ignored his blistering fingers and scrawled a short message across a blank piece of parchment.  
  
 _Ronnie,  
  
Please. I know it burns. But keep your chin up._  
  
 _John_  
  
As he raced up the stairs, his stomach swam with nervous anticipation, only to sink with bitter disappointment when he found Ronnie's room empty. Setting the roses and folded parchment upon her bureau, he dragged himself up to his turret bedroom to soak his hands...  
  
A soft knock on the door interrupted John's silent musings. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Ronnie standing in the open doorway, clinging to one of the fire roses he had made for her.  
  
When their eyes met, her face lit up with a radiant smile.  
  
Astonished, John felt his face break into a smile that responded so easily to hers. Not even caring that he was showing her every single one of his pointed fangs, he blushed with pleasure simply because he knew he had been the one to restore her smile.  
  
She came to him then, close enough that John could see the weariness that lined her eyes with dark circles, and putting the rose aside, she plunged her hands into the basin of water and laced her fingers through his. She inhaled sharply when she saw his raw, reddened fingertips and squeezed his hands with unrestrained gratitude.  
  
The intensity of the moment faded as she gently patted his fingers dry, applied salve to his wounds, and carefully bandaged them. And then she spent the remainder of the night upon his bed, chatting with him as if he had never revealed his deepest desire to her at all.  
  
Yes, John's fingers burned, but it had been completely worth it.  
  
\---  
  
As the days continued to unfold, winter returned with a vengeance, declaring war on spring with a gust of cold weather. Shivering as she closed her bedroom curtains one evening, Ronnie decided to tiptoe up the turret staircase to see if John was in possession of a spare blanket.  
  
But though the door was wide open and the fireplace was wavering with bright flames, John was nowhere to be found.  
  
Frowning, Ronnie wandered into the room, briskly rubbing the chill from her forearms. As she climbed upon his bed to await his return, her gaze fell upon his black bass guitar, propped against his pillows.  
  
A smile tugged at her lips as she lifted it from the bed. She had returned it to him a few weeks prior, thinking he might like to play again. And she was secretly thrilled to see that he had taken her suggestion to heart.  
  
Balancing the guitar in her lap, she positioned the fingers of her right hand upon the strings, and ran her left fingertips up the length of the neck. She hadn't the slightest idea how to make beautiful sound come from the instrument, like John could, but just the feel of it in her hands was enough to send her mind into a spiral of wonder.  
  
Moments later, Ronnie felt the bed sink behind her with the weight of another. A safe feeling enveloped her as she felt John mold his body around hers. Telling herself she had nothing to fear, that they were only friends, she relaxed between his legs as he circled his arms around her from behind, placing his long fingers over hers on the strings.   
  
And then he painstakingly guided her left fingers along the neck of the bass, while carefully curling his right fingers over her own as together, they fingered the strings. A deep, pleasing melody filled the small, rounded tower and Ronnie vaguely wondered if anyone else in the castle could hear it; she'd have to ask Freddie tomorrow what the name of the song was.  
  
Ronnie's eyes widened with enchantment as John wordlessly taught her to play. It was slow going, but it was fascinating watching their fingers working together to create a low, flowing beat that thrummed even inside her heart.   
  
At one point, her fingers slipped from his, playing a wrong note. Ronnie laughed softly and turning to look over her shoulder at John, her nose accidentally bumped his. She hadn't expected his face to be so close...  
  
The corners of John's eyes were crinkled with amusement but as they locked eyes, his smile slowly disappeared. He swallowed hard...once, twice...and then his left hand slowly wrapped her fingers around the neck of his bass and held them there, though not entirely against their will.   
  
Ronnie felt John's heart beat faster, thumping ceaselessly against her shoulder blade. She could see his pale, silver irises, heavy within pools of white, as his eyes desperately hunted hers, his lips hovering just inches from her own.  
  
Curiosity seized Ronnie by the heart, slowly dragging her closer, closing that very small gap between them...  
  
She was sharply returned to reality by John's hair softly tickling her cheek. Realizing how close she had come to surrendering to her love for him, she cleared her throat and looked away. John slowly released her fingers.  
  
Lifting the bass strap over her head, Ronnie handed the guitar to John, whispered a hurried goodnight, and quickly left the room, the blanket completely forgotten. And it didn't matter because she didn't need it anymore.  
  
For, as Ronnie ran into her room and locked the door behind her, she pressed her palms and her face against the windowpanes, wishing the night was colder.  
  
Because icy as the glass currently was, it couldn't cool the heat of her burning red cheeks.


	23. Chapter 23

**Mid-March  
**  
"Come on, Brian! If Roger can do it, you can do it!"  
  
Brian smiled at Anita's enthusiasm but the moment his fingers hit the piano keys, a plethora of unpleasing sounds and disjointed musical notes filled the room.  
  
With a sigh, Brian turned to Anita, who was perched comfortably beside him on the piano bench.  
  
"Perhaps it's out of tune," he said dryly.  
  
Anita smiled sadly at him; they were both well aware that the piano was entirely in tune. Rather, it was _Brian_ who was out of tune, thanks to Trident's curse.  
  
"Perhaps you just need a break," Anita suggested as she pulled Brian off the bench and pushed him gently out of the parlor. "It's lovely outside; why don't you go to the terrace and I'll join you in a moment?"  
  
Whole-heartedly agreeing, Brian gratefully made his escape from the exasperating piano.   
  
As she watched him go, Anita marveled at how far they had come in only a few months. It was already remarkable enough they had found each other after being torn apart by different professions; what was even more extraordinary was how they had picked up exactly where they left off. It was like those years of absence had never been.   
  
And now, after spending five months stranded at the castle, Anita had grown accustomed to the feel of Brian's hand in hers. She had mastered the perfect way to hold him. She had memorized the imprint of his lips on hers.  
  
She had never been happier.  
  
Unable to tuck away her smile quite yet, Anita ambled through the entryway, leisurely making her way to the terrace. When she saw that Freddie had joined Brian outside, she turned to go, not wishing to disturb them.  
  
A piece of their conversation drifted through the open window, however, and stopped her in her tracks.  
  
"So tell me, darling, how's Chrissie?"  
  
Brian's shoulders lifted in a shrug. "As well as can be expected, I suppose."  
  
"I don't believe I've seen the poor dear since your wedding day," Freddie remarked.  
  
 _Wedding day?_ Anita's heart lurched in her chest as she pressed her back against the smooth wood paneling of the wall, safely out of sight.  
  
"Yes, well..." Brian sounded weary. "Nothing's changed. We'll pick up where we left off when I return home."  
  
"Have you told Anita?" Freddie inquired.  
  
"Not yet," Brian answered uncertainly.   
  
Freddie's voice held the low, undertone of a warning. "I wouldn't wait too long, darling. Love is a funny, fickle thing, you know."  
  
Not waiting to hear Brian's response, Anita turned and dashed up the grand staircase. When she was safely locked in her room, she threw herself upon the bed and buried her face in her pillow.  
  
 _He's married!_ she thought miserably to herself. _He's married and he never thought to mention that very important detail!  
_  
Anita sobbed until her head ached and her pillow was drenched. She only bothered to lift her face when a soft knock reverberated off the door, followed by Brian's equally soft voice.  
  
"Anita?"  
  
Anita's first instinct was to wrench open the door, twist her fingers into Brian's shirt, and in typical theater fashion, demand _how dare you!  
_  
But instead, she slipped to the floor, hid behind the bed, and forced her trembling voice out into the open. "Yes?"  
  
Brian hesitated, before his slightly muffled voice found it's way through the door. "Is everything all right? I was worried when you didn't come to the terrace..."  
  
Anita pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes to stem the flow of tears. "Brian, I don't feel well. We'll have to continue the piano lesson another day."  
  
And by another day, Anita emphatically meant never, ever again.  
  
"All right," Brian reluctantly agreed. "But you'll come to me if you need anything?"  
  
 _He knows something's off,_ Anita thought to herself. No doubt the tone of her voice, so flat and strained, gave it away.  
  
"I'll be fine," she lied and listened as Brian's footsteps slowly retreated down the hall in defeat.  
  
Trying to find the silver lining in her situation, Anita reminded herself that at least it was spring, the weather was warming, and the Great Sickness had abated. All of those things meant she could depart from the castle when she was ready, leaving Brian far behind as she resumed her quest for work.  
  
A voice deep within warned her that she might not find employment; it also so helpfully pointed out that she was almost out of money.  
  
In response to her own conscience, Anita tucked her fingers under the mattress and pulled out a small red book.  
  
She hadn't seen _Guide to Prostitution_ since Freddie had returned it to her on Christmas.   
  
Now, his words echoed through her fragile mind.  
  
 _You must promise me that you'll only use it for a bit of light bedtime reading. And if you're ever in trouble, you'll turn to myself or Brian._  
  
Anita snorted. Once upon a time she had planned on confiding in Brian, but safely tucked in the castle for the winter, there had been no urgency to do so. And now, it was simply out of the question; the fact that Brian had a wife meant that she could never accept financial assistance from him.  
  
Because that would make her his mistress. The very thought made her want to vomit.  
  
Anita firmly assured herself that she'd find work and that she'd never need to rely on _Guide to Prostitution._ Even so, she curled up there on the floor and began to read.  
  
 _Chapter Three. Hygiene._  
  
\---  
  
One particularly warm night, Ronnie dreamt of the Trance.  
  
She was sitting on the side of a mountain that was littered with smashed pumpkins while concentrating all her attention upon the full yellow moon that seemed close enough to touch. She didn't dare tear her eyes away from it; if she did, she'd be forced to acknowledge the dizzying drop below.  
  
The sound of nails scratching in the dirt finally forced her to take in her surroundings, which were lit with the moon's eerie amber light. And creeping up the mountainside with slow and calculated movements was none other than the Black Queen.  
  
Ronnie told herself to turn and scramble up the mountain but she feared that the broken pumpkin husks would make her slip and fall into the murky depths below. And so, she could only watch with wide, terrified eyes as the Black Queen approached her, never stopping until he had crawled between her legs and snaked an arm around her waist.  
  
She had expected his touch to be cold, but it was smoldering hot as his knuckles traced the curve of her cheek. And as her knees reluctantly relaxed and pressed themselves against the Black Queen's ribs, she felt an alarming sense of calm steal over her.  
  
Almost like a trance.  
  
Knowing she couldn't let herself go without a fight, Ronnie's mind tried to resist. She attempted to twist out of his hold; if it meant she'd plummet to the bottom of the cliff and meet the exact same fate as the shattered pumpkins, then so be it! At least she'd be free of him...  
  
A flame of darkness ignited deep within her heart as she realized that she would also be free of him if _he_ were to be the one to _accidentally_ tumble off the cliff...  
  
The Black Queen's soft, unnerving voice nibbled her eardrums, alerting her that he knew exactly what she was thinking.  
  
 _Then I'll defy the laws of nature and come out alive  
_  
His eyes flashed with alternating flames of ruby and gold as he leaned closer and brushed his nose against hers.   
  
_Then I'll get you  
_  
Ronnie grasped his shoulders, desperately needing something to hold onto, as his voice continued to invade her very soul.  
  
 _You are mine_  
 _I possess you..._  
  
Ronnie's eyelids grew heavy as she began to relax in the Black Queen's arms. She told herself to stop fighting; the more she engaged the Trance in mental combat, the more swiftly she was pulled under.

 _...I belong to you forever_  
  
The Black Queen's words were like the final nail in her coffin. There, among the pumpkin graveyard, Ronnie wrapped her legs tightly around his waist and roughly pressed her lips against his...  
  
...and lost all control, knowing she'd never regain it ever again.  
  
\---  
  
Even as she awoke from this nightmare, Ronnie had enough sense to clamp a hand over her mouth to muffle the scream that was inching it's way up her throat. She tossed the blankets to the foot of the bed as her bare feet hit the cold floorboards and her shaking fingers tore open the door.  
  
She peered anxiously up the turret staircase but there was no sign of light or life from John's tiny corner of the world.   
  
Closing her bedroom door, Ronnie sunk to her knees and exhaled deeply through her nose.  
  
It had only been a dream. There were no debilitated pumpkins, no Black Queen, no kiss...  
  
...and yet, she could still feel that burning desire that was causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end.  
  
 _And no wonder it burned!_ Ronnie thought to herself, gritting her teeth in frustration. Her love for John had grown to resemble a fire that constantly smoldered deep within her core. And if that fire was ever ignited by John's touch, it had the capacity to rage out of control, where it would surely burn down her walls, demolish her heart, and destroy the carefully tended garden that was her mental well being.  
  
 _You need to be careful,_ Ronnie warned herself, _or you'll succumb to madness...  
_  
...just like Dream Ronnie had given herself over to madness on the mountainside.  
  
The grandfather clock in the hall announced the arrival of the witching hour but Ronnie knew sleep would not find her again.  
  
\---  
  
Ronnie didn't realize that the soft murmur of conversation and the clinking of silverware had lulled her to sleep until her elbows hit the dining room table with a resounding _thud._ The sudden noise startled her awake.  
  
A deafening silence fell over the breakfast table. Feeling seven pairs of eyes upon her, Ronnie slowly looked up, practically smothered by the concern that was being aimed in her direction.  
  
Brian's chair creaked as he leaned forward. "Ronnie, is everything all right?"  
  
Ronnie blinked sleepily as a yawn tried to force it's way out, but she pushed it to the back of her throat. "Yes. I just didn't sleep well."  
  
"Any particular reason?" Freddie asked politely, though his eyes gleamed with knowledge as he effortlessly accessed her mind.  
  
Having no wish to discuss her salacious nightmare about John over eggs and bacon, especially when he was seated directly across from her, Ronnie quickly instructed herself to think of wallpaper.   
  
"You forget that whenever you think of wallpaper I know you're trying to hide your thoughts from me," Freddie said pleasantly as he buttered a piece of toast.  
  
Ronnie turned to Adam, lounging in his chair beside her. "I was wondering if there's a spell to remove blood from a dress."  
  
Across the table, John tilted his head at her, perhaps pondering why she had decided to fret over his blood on her wedding gown...two months after the fact.  
  
Roger, looking completely baffled, echoed his friend's thoughts. "That's what kept you up all night?"  
  
Adam fixed her with a look of pure and utter sympathy. "Oh honey, I think you're looking for a laundress, not a spell."  
  
As Roger choked on his mirth (and his hardboiled egg), Freddie twirled his fork in the air and narrowed his eyes at Ronnie.  
  
"What's the Trance, my dear?" he asked. "It sounds positively delightful."  
  
A sharp ping echoed through the air as John dropped his fork upon the floor. Ronnie felt Adam stiffen beside her.  
  
Brian furrowed his brows, eager to understand. "The Trance?"  
  
Ronnie lightly cleared her throat and stirred her tea, as if the Trance was of absolutely no concern to her. As if this wasn't the first time she had confessed its existence to anyone.  
  
"The Trance is this strange feeling of extraordinary tranquility and peace," she explained. "Like sleeping while being awake."  
  
Anita smiled wistfully. "Sounds like heaven. Can you buy it in a store?"  
  
Worry flooded Brian's green eyes as glanced at Anita, but she avoided his gaze.  
  
Ronnie swallowed hard. "Well..."  
  
Freddie dropped his chin into his hand as he gazed at her knowingly. He had already read in her thoughts that John's touch caused the Trance; he was clearly waiting for her to admit it.  
  
"Let's just say I only felt the Trance when..." Ronnie's eyes betrayed her as they rested on John's face.  
  
He wasn't smiling. _  
  
He knows something_ , Ronnie thought to herself, before she continued in a rush, "...when John touched me."  
  
No use in denying it, right?  
  
Roger's expression was rife with sympathy. "So you stayed up all night because Deaky's touch wasn't there to help you sleep?"   
  
Ronnie shook her head quickly. The last thing she needed was everyone thinking she was dependent on John for sleep. 

_Or pain management_ , she thought darkly to herself.  
  
"No. I just realized last night that I only felt the Trance when John had the alcohol curse. It disappeared around the time Trident took that curse away, the night of the wedding. I was curious if the Trance and the alcohol curse were related somehow."  
  
John flinched, inadvertently knocking over a crystal goblet of water. As it extinguished a candle and soaked the tablecloth, Adam casually picked up a spoon; peering into it, he pretended to be occupied with fluffing his long bangs.  
  
"You know something," Ronnie said bluntly.  
  
Adam shrugged. "Possibly."  
  
Ronnie took his spoon away. "Adam!"  
  
Resignation slowly surfaced in Adam's ultramarine eyes. He glanced at John and raised his eyebrows, as if seeking his permission.  
  
John nodded, though he appeared to be excruciatingly uncomfortable.  
  
With a sigh, Adam hauled himself to his feet, left the room and, thirty seconds later, returned with a book, which he handed to Ronnie. She ran her fingers over the red leather cover, tracing the gold lettering as she recognized the title.  
  
 _Curses Throughout Time_  
  
She frowned. This was the same exact book that John had been reading in late February.  
  
Adam's voice was quiet. "The answer to your question is...yeah. The Trance is a rather important element of the alcohol curse."  
  
Silence descended upon the room as everyone waited with great anticipation to hear _why.  
_  
"Well, don't keep us in suspense, darling," Freddie said, though his eyes were filled with astonishment, suggesting that he had most certainly already read the reason in both Adam and John's minds.  
  
Delicately brushing nonexistent crumbs from his patterned zebra print pants, Adam began his tale.  
  
"The alcohol curse is at least a thousand years old. As you can imagine, those inflicted by it had to learn to isolate themselves so their loved ones wouldn't see them as monsters. The cursed individuals often fell into despair and lived out the rest of their days alone, until the constant transformations eventually destroyed them physically...or mentally."  
  
Ronnie felt her heart melt with empathy as she snuck a glance at John, remembering how he had bravely endured every difficult transformation. She was slightly unprepared to find that he wasn't looking at Adam, but directly at her, as if to gauge her reaction to what Adam would soon reveal.  
  
"There was no known cure," Adam went on, "until the curse befell a wizard and he found his own cure was his wife. That's how he determined that soulmates were the only cure for the alcohol curse."  
  
"Soulmates?" Sarina whispered with interest.  
  
"Yes. The only thing strong enough to break the curse was trust and love, bestowed upon the cursed individual by their soulmate. The only problem was that most of the cursed men were unmarried and didn't know who their soulmates were."  
  
Adam planted his hands on the table and hovered dramatically over the platter of eggs. "This wizard, wishing to help the inflicted, linked a magical spell to the curse so that the cursed men would be able to find their soulmates more easily. All they had to do was lay a finger on somebody, and if that man or woman showed signs of becoming sedated..."   
  
Ronnie shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "Sedated as in...?"   
  
Adam nodded in confirmation. "The Trance. If a man or woman succumbed to the cursed individual's touch and experienced the Trance, the cursed individual would know they had found their soulmate - and their cure."  
  
Roger was slowly putting the pieces of the puzzle together. "So Ronnie felt this Trance whenever Deaky touched her, which means..."  
  
Ronnie's mind was frozen with icy shock as she whirled around to face John. His white eyes were clear and his expression was softly apologetic.  
  
"...I'm John's soulmate," she finished quietly.  
  
John recoiled at the white hot incredulity in her eyes and though Ronnie tried to soften her expression, for none of this was John's fault, she found she just _couldn't._ Her dream from the night before returned to her in brilliant sparks of red and gold and she realized that accepting her status as John's soulmate was the very first step to succumbing to the madness Dream Ronnie had felt on the mountainside.   
  
_You are mine, I possess you,_ the Black Queen had warned her under the looming yellow moon of her nightmare. _I belong to you forever._  
  
Fragments of memories blurred Ronnie's vision and made her head spin; she was transported back to that dark night she had learned she was pregnant with John's child; she felt the cool feel of silver as John slipped a beautiful wedding band onto her finger during their forced marriage ceremony; she saw John's lips hovering only inches from hers after they promised each other they'd only be friends...  
  
Yes, her life was already hopelessly entangled with his. Apparently, Fate was a sneaky, conniving wench. Fate had planned her descent into madness. _It had been meant to happen all along._ _  
  
_Carefully avoiding everyone's eyes, Ronnie stared down at the book in her hands. The weathered cover recalled that stormy February evening, when John had closed _Curses Throughout Time_ with a distressed expression and hastened to bid her goodnight.   
  
That must have been the moment he discovered that Ronnie was meant to be his, whether she wished it or not.  
  
"You knew," she murmured, though she couldn't look at him. "You found out weeks ago."  
  
John's voice quietly confirmed it. _Yes...  
  
_ Ronnie bowed her head. She felt like such a _fool._   
  
Freddie was studying her very carefully, trying to untangle her twisted thoughts so that he could come to some sort of understanding; so he could soothe her distress. And as she was not emotionally stable enough to shield her mind, she allowed him to see every one of those hard, brittle thoughts.  
  
Ronnie's love for John _frightened_ her because she had never felt this way about anyone before. And after Valentino's betrayal, after John had so effortlessly impregnated her, after he had broken her heart by breaking his promise (which she no longer blamed him for), she had consoled herself with the notion that she never had to hurt like that again because she never had to give her heart away again. And quite frankly, it was best if she didn't. Yes, she loved John, but if she kept him at arms length, that love would eventually go away.  
  
But it didn't go away! Her pumpkin-infested dream was proof that her love for John had pushed her to the brink, threatening to shove her over the edge, to engulf her in flames. Rather than vanish, her love was _deepening._ It was shaping itself into something everlasting; it was being sculpted with want, need, desire.  
  
And the revelation that they were soulmates meant that she had no choice in the matter. Thanks to forces beyond her control, she was already married to John, she was already carrying his child. Fate had never given her a chance to decide for herself! 

"Oh darling," Freddie whispered.  
  
Roger was shaking his head in wonder. "Fuck Trident! You were Deaky's cure the whole time, Ronnie!"  
  
"I bet Trident knew all along," Anita whispered.  
  
Finally looking up from _Curses Throughout Time_ , Ronnie noticed that John's fingers were trembling anxiously as he endured her silence. Needing something to hold onto, he sought his fork. Remembering it was on the floor, he twisted his fingers into the folds of the tablecloth instead.  
  
\---  
  
Rising out of her chair, Ronnie leaned over the table and placed her fork beside John's plate with more force than she had intended.   
  
"As your soulmate, I give you my fork," she whispered as her eyes flashed dangerously with the reflection of her dream.  
  
Before she could pull away, John's fingers grasped her own as he stared up at her from under his darkly arched eyebrows, not bothering to hide how much her simple words had hurt. He kept her hand pinned beneath his as his eyes conveyed to her that he hadn't wished to be reminded that he was never what she had planned for, that he was never what she had wanted.  
  
"Deaky," Freddie said very quietly. "Do you wish me to...erm...tell her anything for you?"  
  
John shook his head. The candles on the table blazed fiercely and his milky white eyes brimmed with meaning as he tried to let Ronnie know that he had never asked Fate to do this to her. His voice was unnervingly soft as it seized her heart, reminding her that misfortune was a fact of life.  
  
 _You lead a fairy tale existence_  
 _But into every life a little rain must fall  
_  
Ronnie leaned dangerously close to him, her pregnant belly brushing the table, her eyes never leaving his as she blew out the candle nearest to him in blatant defiance. And then she wrenched her hand away, snatched the book from the table, and left the room.  
  
John merely let her fingers slip from his as he watched her go.  
  
"John," Sarina said softly. "Please don't take any of this to heart. She's trying to navigate her feelings for you as best she can right now, though her seas are choppy with fear and confusion."  
  
"Beautifully worded, darling," Freddie commended her.  
  
John nodded that he understood and everyone finished breakfast, albeit with heavier hearts.   
  
Afterward, as John was climbing the stairs to the second floor, he felt a softness brush his fingers as a piece of parchment was forced into his hand. Turning, he found Roger standing beside him.  
 _  
_"But now you're facing complications," the drummer recited. "'Cause into every life a little rain must fall."  
  
John looked down at the parchment Roger had given him.  
  
"You can make her love you, you know," Roger added meaningfully, before he turned to go.  
  
As Roger disappeared, John slowly unfolded the parchment. When he saw the bold heading at the top, his heart sank ( _like a ship in Ronnie's choppy seas,_ he thought ironically).

 _ **Love**_ **_Spell_** **  
  
**John frowned. He knew Roger was only trying to help, but even so...  
  
...and besides, where had Roger obtained such a spell?  
  
Everything finally made sense when John flipped the page over and saw the missing Illness Cure Spell from Adam's book of forbidden spells.  
  
\---  
  
The following day, the castle inhabitants (minus John and Sarina, who had remained at the fortress) traveled through the western woods to complete Ronnie's final coming-of-age task before her journey to the Virgin Forest.   
  
_And what a day for an adventure!_ Brian thought exuberantly to himself as he stood at the top of a grassy knoll and gazed down into the valley below. The snow had finally melted, a pleasant breeze was ruffling his curly mane, and the warm rays of the sun stretched to every corner of Nevermore, bringing light and life to the land.  
  
It would have been perfect, if only Anita would tell him what was troubling her.  
  
"We're here, darlings!" Freddie announced. "I present to you...Lily Valley!"  
  
Beside him, Ronnie bristled; if she was at all affected by the beauty around her, she didn't show it.  
  
"We could have skipped this task," she muttered.  
  
Freddie looked positively affronted. "Nonsense, darling! We're not going to let a little bit of sexual education get in the way of the completion of your journey!"  
  
"Sexual education?" Roger repeated with interest as Ronnie's cheeks turned pink. "That's why we're here?"  
  
Freddie waved his arm grandly as he gestured to the swell of the land, covered with white lilies. The air above them was filled with buzzing as hundreds of honeybees went about their work.  
  
"Yes!" he said. "To witness the miracle of reproduction!"  
  
"The birds and the bees," Brian murmured as he recalled the description of the task on Ronnie's list...  
  
 _Journey to Lily Valley to witness the role the bees play in nature's reproduction and consider that your own reproduction will be just as miraculous...and can be just as sweet.  
_  
A honeybee wandered by, apparently drunk on love and the miracle of reproduction.  
  
"They've lost their stings," Freddie observed sadly.  
  
Not in the least concerned about the state of the honeybee's bum, Roger blatantly pointed out, "If you want her to witness the miracle of reproduction, we should take her to a whorehouse."  
  
Anita, who had been idly running her fingers down the trunk of a nearby tree, froze at the word _whorehouse._ Brian's brow furrowed as he perceived her wide eyes and her haunted expression...  
  
Freddie gasped. "That is _not_ the kind of sexual union we want our Ronnie mixed up in! There is nothing miraculous and sweet about paid sexual favors in the dead of the night, Roger!"  
  
The ominous sound of twigs snapping filled the air as Anita abruptly turned and hurried down the hill, in the opposite direction of the lilies and the bees. Brian hesitated, obviously torn; he wanted to follow her, yet how could he leave Ronnie's sexual education in the hands of Freddie and Roger?  
  
Deciding that any damage they did could be undone later, Brian forced his long legs to carry him over the crest and down to the woman he loved.  
  
\---  
  
 _There is nothing miraculous and sweet about paid sexual favors in the dead of the night!_  
  
As Anita sat on an ancient boulder beside a bubbling brook, she pressed her hands to her heart, protecting it from Freddie's words. Digging her elbows into her knees, she doubled over as one of her tears dripped into the water. As if she needed to be reminded that prostitution was vile, that it would be the greatest fall from grace she could possibly achieve!  
  
But what if she had no choice?  
  
 _It won't come to that!_ Anita reminded herself fiercely. _You're perfectly safe, there will be other forms of employment to fall upon...  
_  
The feeling of cold stone beneath her thighs lessened as she felt a warm presence beside her. Turning her head away from Brian, Anita flicked an oncoming tear away.  
  
"Anita," Brian said in a low, concerned voice. "Tell me what's wrong."  
  
It was impossible to ignore him with the firm pressure of his knee against hers, the tender manner in which he tucked a stray strand of red hair behind her ear, the way his shadow enveloped her completely.  
  
And it would have been so simple to look him in the eye and tell him the truth. So incredibly easy to shout at him, to push him off her rock, to allow her tears to burn him to his very core...  
  
But Anita was hopelessly proud. She already felt foolish enough that she had allowed herself to fall head over heels in love with him, while never knowing that his heart belonged to another.  
  
Desperately reaching for her trusty acting abilities, Anita adorned her calmest expression as she faced him and said, "What makes you think something is wrong?"  
  
Brian's expression was meaningful. "I think you've forgotten that I know you and I've seen that look before."  
  
Anita carefully kept her emotions on a tight leash as she asked, "You have?"   
  
"Yes," Brian said quietly. "I saw that same look in your eyes the night I pulled you out of the sea."  
  
Anita squirmed uncomfortably at the intimate memory. "So you're saying I look sad?"  
  
"Not just sad," Brian said carefully. "More like...hunted."  
  
Anita stared at him, trying to keep her face a mask of composed neutrality, though she sensed he could read every emotion she was currently feeling. And he was right, she had never felt so hunted in her entire life.  
  
Hunted by misfortune, by financial ruin, by a profession that she loathed, by a love that was completely and utterly forbidden.  
  
Yet, she didn't feel she could tell Brian that, because Brian would shelter her in a heartbeat. Despite her protests, he would offer her money, a home, safety. And she couldn't accept any of that from him now that she knew his secret.  
  
"Aren't we all hunted?" Anita asked, not smiling.  
  
Brian gave her a pained look, showing that she was quite correct in her assessment.  
  
Not giving him a moment further to respond, Anita slid off the boulder and disappeared into the trees.  
  
\---  
  
Upon their return to the castle, a euphoric feeling of relief engulfed Ronnie. Dodging Freddie's deep sexual philosophies (peppered by Roger's sensual puns and venereal innuendos) and leaving Lily Valley unscathed was possibly the greatest achievement of her life thus far.  
  
"Oh, but darling!" Freddie had protested as Ronnie marched out of the valley. "We're just getting started!"  
  
"I already know how babies are made, Freddie!" Ronnie threw over her shoulder as she led them further into the western woods.  
  
Desperately needing space, she now meandered across the courtyard with every intention of spending the rest of the afternoon with Sarina's horse, who would most certainly not engage her in a conversation about the miracles of reproduction.  
  
And thank goodness for that.  
  
Ronnie slipped into the stable just as a light rain begun to fall and saw that Sarina's horse already had company.  
  
Sitting on the top rung of the horse's pen was Sarina herself. She was waving her hands animatedly as she chatted with John, who was leaning his forearms comfortably upon the wooden railing.  
  
Letting her shoulder fall gently against the doorframe, Ronnie tried not to envy them. How she would have preferred to spend her morning here, rather than with the bees.  
  
And yet, according to Freddie, John had remained at the castle because he thought Ronnie would be more comfortable that way, considering they hadn't spoken since the scene in the dining room at breakfast the day before. And Sarina had stayed so John wouldn't be alone. And if that wasn't friendship, Ronnie didn't know what was.  
  
"Was it a success?" Sarina's sympathetic voice yanked Ronnie from her musings.  
  
Ronnie shrugged. "I have a pocketful full of inappropriate jokes and a potential trip to a whorehouse in my future. So yes, I suppose it was a success."  
  
John's expression softened as he sensed her discomfort. With a sigh, Sarina slipped off the fence as she murmured, "I was afraid this would happen."  
  
Taking Ronnie's hand, she pulled her to the corner of the stable and lowered her voice. "I want you to forget about everything they told you today and remember just this one thing."  
  
Ronnie nodded, waiting patiently for Sarina to speak her truth.  
  
The gypsy's eyes sparkled with tears as she spoke sincerely. "The bees may act as a metaphor for what occurs between two lovers but what the bees don't tell you is how beautiful sexual union is. It's divine. It's the closet you can get to another world, to another dimension. It's the closest you can get to the one you love. To actually feel their heartbeat within you is the most sacred experience you can have as a human being."  
  
Sarina tried to smile but failed as she finished in a whisper, "That's what the bees don't tell you." And giving Ronnie's hand a squeeze, she quickly left the stable.  
  
Ronnie turned to gaze out the window and watched Sarina run through the rain as if she were being pursued by the ghosts of her past.  
  
As rivulets of rain trickled down the windowpanes, Ronnie considered Sarina's heartfelt words. If Ronnie was being honest with herself, she wanted a divine experience as much as the next girl, but she wanted it on her _own_ terms. And Fate had already proven to her, time and time again, that nothing was to be on her own terms.  
  
 _They say it's just a state of mind_  
 _But it happens to everyone_  
  
Ronnie slowly spun around at the sound of John's voice. How could she have forgotten he was there?  
  
He was standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the rain's wispy fog, his hands shoved deeply into his pockets. As the echo of his words disappeared, he bit his lip, his pointed teeth sinking into the skin.  
  
Ronnie crossed her arms against her chest. She knew he had heard everything Sarina had told her and it was really quite sweet of him to offer his own reassurances.  
  
But she didn't need reassurance about carnal desire at that moment. She needed a different kind of reassurance.  
  
Ronnie moved closer to John, her eyes pleading with him to tell her what she so desperately needed to hear. That she was free, that she could do whatever she pleased, that she wasn't shackled to him with a ball and chain.  
  
John stared at her helplessly as his gentle voice brushed her cheeks like soft, calloused thumbs, begging her to understand his precarious position.  
  
 _I can't set you free from me_  
  
He was telling her that Fate was not easy to reason with. That he was powerless against destiny. That even if he had wanted to sever the delicate thread that connected them as soulmates, he simply couldn't.  
  
"But that's not true!" Ronnie exclaimed in a soft whisper.  
  
John's white eyes swam with red flecks of misery as he offered Ronnie an apologetic gaze that was so incredibly gentle that it made her knees weak. And then he turned away from her and pulled his hands from his pockets in order to raise the cloak of his hood over his head.  
  
As he did so, a folded piece of parchment fell onto the hay strewn ground. Ronnie crouched to pick it up, but John had already disappeared into the sheet of rain that was guarding the stable door.  
  
The neat, primitive script on the yellowed page piqued her interest. She meticulously unfolded the parchment, her curious eyes roaming over the page.  
  
And then she dropped it as if it had burned her, and backed away. The bold title at the top of the page stared up at her as it gleefully mocked her...  
  
 _ **Love Spell**_  
  
Ronnie turned away, twisted her fingers into the horse's mane, and pressed her forehead against his warm nose.  
  
"He wouldn't do that to me," she whispered to the horse. "Surely, he'd never..."  
  
The horse let out a soft _whuff,_ though whether he was agreeing with her or not, Ronnie couldn't tell.  
  
 _You never dreamed he'd impregnate you either_ , a cruel voice within told her.  
  
Ronnie urgently reminded herself that John was the sweetest soul she had ever known, and against all odds he had become her very best friend...  
  
 _That may be so,_ the voice continued. _But you've only known him six months...  
_  
Ronnie shook her head against her doubts. He had saved her life more times that she could count, so why would he endanger her heart in this way?  
  
 _Because,_ the voice replied. _He needs to save himself.  
  
_ Ronnie reluctantly acknowledged that the voice was right. She had certainly shown him that she wasn't in any hurry to reconjure her trust in him. It would be so easy for him to cast this love spell on her and extract trust from her that way, enough to break the curse, setting himself free from it...  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, Ronnie saw the parchment that held the love spell tremble. It was likely just the wind, but even so, Ronnie swiftly scooped it from the ground and crushed it in her fist.  
  
She was certain that he hadn't cast the love spell yet; if he had, she would be in a hopeless love trance, powerless to stop it. But even though he hadn't acted, they were still playing a dangerous game and it was time she ended it.  
  
Standing in the doorway of the stable, Ronnie gazed up at the castle. It was barely discernable through the rain and the fog, but there it stood, like a dark monster looming over her.  
  
She'd hide the spell, that's what she'd do. And then she'd do everything in her power to make John fall out of love with her. 

Ronnie's well laid plans soothed the ache in her soul as she allowed one single thought to ring true.  
  
 _Fate be damned!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, they can't seem to catch a break, can they? Rest assured they'll get there eventually. :)
> 
> If you're still reading, I'd love to know what you think! Thank you for continuing to support this fic!


	24. Chapter 24

**March 20th**   
**Ostara, the Spring Equinox**

The flames were yellow as melted butter as they rose into the charcoal night sky and reached for the pale crescent moon. They echoed the flames in Sarina's own soul as she watched Adam finish the spell that would wake the dead.  
  
 _Her_ dead.  
  
Shutting the spellbook with a dusty _snap,_ Adam took a respectful step away from the fire they had created in a clearing of the eastern woods.  
  
"All you have to do now is say his name," he said.  
  
Sarina clasped her hands together nervously as she nodded, hoping she looked braver than she felt.  
  
Adam touched her shoulder and motioned towards the gentle slope that overlooked the clearing. "If you need me, I'll be right up there, honey."  
  
As she listened to his retreating footsteps, Sarina bowed her head and whispered her infinity love's name. Her voice slipped between the flames before it melted in the heat.  
  
A gust of hot air blew her hair from her face as the fire blazed in sudden brilliance, filling the clearing with a flickering light. Sarina continued to stare at her feet, afraid of what she would see if she looked up.  
  
But she needn't have feared. A flame in the shape of a long finger placed itself beneath her chin and slowly lifted her head. The finger's touch burned in the best possible way.  
  
Sarina's eyes filled with bright tears as she gazed into the face of her infinity love. He was silhouetted in fire, his features born of flame, but his eyes were still the same, dazzling green they had always been.  
  
He smiled at her as he clasped her hands between his.  
  
"How I've missed you," Sarina whispered as he squeezed her fingers, indicating that the feeling was mutual.  
  
Though she would have loved to chat with him all night, Adam had warned her that time was limited. And so, Sarina told her infinity love everything he needed to know. How empty the last five years had been without him. How terribly lonely she was. How she tried her best to be brave. How she loved him and always would...  
  
"...but I need you to set me free," she finished softly, imploring him with her eyes to understand.  
  
He didn't seem surprised. Sarina waited patiently as he lifted his head to stare beyond her, his eyes scanning the shadows darting between the trees. Releasing one of her hands, he lifted his arm and crooked his finger, beckoning to someone in the dark, indicating that they should come forward.  
  
Looking over her shoulder, Sarina was astonished to see Roger sheepishly appearing from behind a tree, looking positively ridden with guilt. He accepted responsibility for eavesdropping, however, and stood close by Sarina's side.  
  
Sarina's infinity love clasped Roger's fingers in a firm handshake. If Roger felt alarmed that a hand made entirely of fire was grasping his own, he didn't show it.  
  
The kindly fire ghost joined Sarina and Roger's hands together and bowed his head, indicating that he approved of their union.  
  
Sarina's tears flowed freely as she stared up into her infinity love's green eyes, deeply set in a face of wavering flames, and whispered, "Thank you."  
  
In response, he leaned forward and brushed her hair away from her face. As her curls slid through his fingers for the very last time, he kissed her cheek. And then, with a soft _whoosh_ of fire, he was gone.  
  
As she stared at the now unremarkable flames, Sarina marveled how, even after all these years, her infinity love's green eyes were still filled with admiration. His fingers were still skillful as they danced through her hair, his lips still soft upon her cheek.  
  
Just like that warm spring afternoon in a field of daisies, all those years ago.  
  
\---  
  
Adam sighed with satisfaction as he sat in the grass and watched Sarina and Roger embrace, holding each other as if they couldn't possibly let go.  
  
Figuring it might be a couple of minutes before they were ready to return to the castle, Adam sat up straighter and idly bestowed his metaphorical favor upon the fireflies, feeling very much like a queen of the night.  
  
Very suddenly, a feeling of intense cold rippled through his skin and seeped into his bones. Glancing to his right, Adam found that a ghostly arm had companionably slung itself over his shoulders. He had a sneaking suspicion that, though he was queen of that dark hill in the wood, there was a king of so much more beside him.  
  
Turning to the left, Adam found he was right. Sitting in the grass beside him was none other than Great King Rat.  
  
 _Dear ole' Dad,_ Adam though ironically to himself as he adorned his most regal frown.  
  
Great King Rat wasn't the slightest bit discouraged by his son's expression. He merely smiled as he gazed upon him, his otherworldly eyes shining with pride.

And then, removing his arm from Adam's shoulders, Great King Rat picked up his glowing crown and reverently placed it atop Adam's head.  
  
A lump the size of an orange lodged itself in Adam's throat as every bitter feeling he had harbored since he was a small child vanished. 

Sure, he could berate his father for allowing his mother to run away, for letting the kingdom crumble, for abandoning him to the gods. But what good would that do now? If Sarina and her infinity love had taught him anything that night, it was that the living and the dead were both allowed to move on.   
  
Slowly, almost mechanically, Adam leaned towards Great King Rat. When he finally permitted himself to let go of his uncertainty, he rested his head against his father's shoulder and melted into his chilly embrace.

 **Late March**  
  
A growl rumbled low in Ronnie's throat as she dug through an old chest in the attic of the castle, desperately searching for something that would squash John's love for her. Medieval gowns and plates of armor flew this way and that as she acknowledged the simple fact that everything she had tried thus far had failed.  
  
She had first resorted to changing her appearance, dying her hair a deathly shade of black and painting her face with makeup that would be the envy of any self respecting whore in Nevermore. She had even gone a step further by adorning a different outrageous outfit every day, ranging from flowing warlock robes (which gave her the unappealing shape of a dastardly old potato) to ridiculous corseted dresses that smelled of damp mildew. And though it raised a few eyebrows amongst the castle inhabitants, it hadn't had the desirable effect of scaring John away.  
  
Ronnie should have know better; _of course_ John's love wasn't superficial enough to be focused on her looks alone. It went deeper than that. Which meant she was going to need to take more extreme measures.  
  
She began insisting on garlic, and only garlic, for breakfast. When Roger hypothetically asked her which instrument she'd ban to the depths of the Seven Seas of Rhye, if given the chance, she looked John directly in the eye and proclaimed, "Bass guitar." And she announced that she was going to partake in ritualistic madness each night in the woods, where she planned to study the occult.  
  
And though lines of concern began to form on John's brow, he showed no sign of abandoning his love for her.  
  
Ronnie sighed as she leaned heavily against the old wooden chest and rested her chin upon her forearm. She was just on the verge of giving up when the sun shifted in the sky, casting a brilliant ray of light through the grimy attic window. Through the dust particles floating in the haze of this sunbeam, she noticed something glimmering at the bottom of the chest.  
  
Plunging her arm back inside and rummaging deep, Ronnie's fingers closed upon cool metal. Lifting it from the tangle of musty old garments, she beheld a crucifix made entirely of gold. A bit more earnest digging revealed a worn old Bible.  
  
Slowly, Ronnie scooped these newly discovered items into her arms and hurried to the rickety old staircase.  
  
 _Perfect,_ she thought to herself.

\---  
  
"Hello, darling."

Ronnie let out a yelp of surprise on the second to the last step of the attic staircase and promptly dropped everything she was holding. A flash of gold sailed through the air as the book fell to the floor with an audible _thud._

"Forgive me, dear," Freddie apologized, as John quickly crouched to gather the scattered objects off the ground. "But you _do_ have the appearance of someone who is up to entirely no good."  
  
Ronnie pressed her hands against her heart, which was no doubt thumping out of control from her recent scare. "What makes you say that?"

As John straightened up, Freddie coolly observed the heavy tome in his arms and the lovely goldwork cross in his hand. "A Bible darling? Since you've already announced that you're joining the occult, I can only assume you'll be using this for mischief."  
  
Freddie watched as a tumble of disjointed thoughts flashed through Ronnie's mind. No doubt she was trying to hide her true intentions from him. A grim smile spread across his face as she tried on at least seven different shades of wallpaper.

But in the end, he was able to tear that wallpaper from her mind, strip by strip, to see that she was trying to change herself, in the hopes that it would make John fall out of love with her.  
  
"Oh, darling," Freddie said in the gentlest of murmurs. "I see what you're up to. And nothing you do could ever make John love you less."

Ronnie, still perched awkwardly on the stairs, closed her eyes in defeat. Understanding flared in John's pale eyes as he balanced the Bible in the crook of his arm and climbed the first step of the attic staircase, so he was eye level with her. 

Her eyes fluttered open as John gently - oh so very gently, as if she were a little bird he didn't wish to frighten away - cupped her cheek in his palm, his thumb tracing the heavy eyeliner beneath her eyes and the black gunk that was stuck to her eyelashes. 

And thus, being the unfortunate soul who could read minds, Freddie had a front row seat to his friends' tumultuous thoughts. Under any other circumstances, this would have been quite amusing, but not now. 

Now, it was like watching Delilah maul a dead bird; he simply couldn't look away.

John's mind was a startling display of fireworks as he finally realized that everything he was witnessing - her newly dyed black curls that matched his fingernails so perfectly, her carefully made up face, the strange quirks and bold declarations - was an attempt to drive him away.  
  
And Ronnie's mind trembled uncontrollably as her recent nightmare tried to overtake her senses; Freddie could clearly see the shiny fragments of pumpkins that glittered in the moonlight, the Black Queen's dirt-encrusted fingernails upon her skin, how he had tasted of salt and broken dreams...

 _She's afraid of intimacy_ , Freddie thought sadly to himself, understanding for the very first time why she had wished to avoid the bees at Lily Valley. 

The gold chain of the crucifix was wound tightly around John's hand, the cross dangling between his fingers, completely forgotten. It brushed Ronnie's cheek, tugging her back to the present moment so she could finally respond to Freddie's statement.

 _Nothing you do could ever make John love you less,_ he had said.

"It's a sin to love a nun," she answered softly, her eyes wide and inescapably locked with John's.

John defiantly responded to this statement by trailing his thumb down her cheek, tracing the rouge on her cheekbones and the heavy foundation that faded away at her jawline, his eyes never leaving hers...

Roger chose this opportune moment to stroll by and remark, "I've never heard of a pregnant nun before."

"She's not a nun," Freddie retorted. "She's a newly appointed _witch_ of the occult."

"Not anymore," Ronnie whispered.

Freddie folded his arms as he tried to make sense of her tangled emotions. "You're giving up the occult to live a life as a nun, just so John won't be able to touch you?"

At those words, John flinched and dropped his hand. Pushing the Bible and the cross into Ronnie's arms, he stepped down from the staircase and shoved his hands into his pockets. 

Freddie gazed at him sympathetically. Poor Deaky, trying to show her that she was safe with him, that he wouldn't touch her if she didn't want him to.

If only tucking one's fingers into one's pockets were enough to keep from touching someone! Freddie knew from experience that it was never enough...

He never received the opportunity to revisit this past memory, however, for he felt Ronnie's gaze on him, hot and accusing as she realized that Freddie had so effortlessly deciphered her dream.  
  
"You know, darling," Freddie replied to her thoughts. "Dreams show us our deepest, most forbidden desires. If your dream is trying to tell you something, why not let your heart decide?"

"Because my heart makes poor decisions!" Ronnie said bitterly as she descended the remaining stairs. "It doesn't know any better, Freddie!"  
  
And carefully avoiding John's eyes, she stormed down the hall with her newly acquired holy relics. John leaned heavily against the wall and watched her go.

As she disappeared around the corner, Freddie growled, "That fucking cockwomble has traumatized her against relationships!"

John's face darkened at the very mention of Ronnie's ex-fiancé.

Freddie began to aggressively pace the floor. "He never treated her like the treasure she is! He made her see herself as a _possession;_ he did nothing but _use_ her before he ran away for a life of _free love._ And then he had the bloody nerve to invite her to share in that life. He's poisoned the idea of intimacy for the poor darling."

John's usually easy going personality sharpened into fierceness as he finally withdrew his hands - now curled into fists - from his pockets. His thoughts helplessly thrashed this way and that, wondering how he'd ever be enough to help Ronnie overcome the fear that was haunting her.

"I know how," Freddie said softly.

John arched an eyebrow in inquiry.

Freddie lowered his voice dramatically, though there was really no need. They were quite alone.  
  
"Tell her your secret, darling. Let her see how similar to her you really are."

John swiftly turned to hide his face, which was burning a deep crimson, but Freddie quickly slid in front of him and planted his hands on the bassist's shoulders. 

"She won't fight you forever, darling. I can already see in her mind that her resolve is crumbling."

Clearly agitated by an intense emotional discomfort, John wriggled out of Freddie's grasp and ducked behind the nearest potted plant, using it as a barrier against Freddie's suggestion.

Hardly one to be dissuaded by a useless house shrub, Freddie's head popped up on the opposite side, making John jump.

"And when she finally frees herself from the stormy seas of her own mind," Freddie continued in an excited whisper, "your secret will be what makes her feel safe enough to sail her ship into your harbor."

John shook his head, his expression pained as he indicated he didn't know how to go about telling Ronnie something so...personal.

Freddie's eyes, dark as melted chocolate, danced with purpose. "We're going to convince her to let you take her to the Virgin Forest. And then it's simple, my dear. All you'll need to do is _show_ her."

\---

That night, two envelopes were pushed beneath Ronnie's bedroom door just as the clock struck ten.

Ronnie stared suspiciously at them as she abandoned the Bible to her bed and slipped to the floor. Scrawled across the first envelope in Freddie's handwriting were three enthusiastic words.  
 _  
Open me first!  
  
_ And beneath that, in John's neat script, was a politely written _please._

Frowning, Ronnie slid her finger under the wax seal and pulled a small piece of parchment from the envelope. She was dismayed to find that the familiar curls of John's handwriting made her heart beat a little faster.

_Ronnie,_

_I'd like to be the one to take you to the Virgin Forest next week. If you grant me this request, I promise I'll respect your wishes and keep my distance. You won't feel my touch unless your safety is at risk._

_Also, there's something I need to show you when we get there._

_John_

Gently putting the letter aside, Ronnie opened the second envelope.

_Darling,_

_By now, I'm assuming you've followed the envelope's directions and read Deaky's request first. I'm writing to encourage you to say yes! Be aware, my dear, that Deaky and I are the only ones who know how to fly Lily, so your escort to the coveted Forest of Virgins must be either him or me._

_And I must say, I'm certainly magical, but not in the way Deaky is. If you were faced with a monstrous beast of epic proportions on your travels, I doubt I could save you._

_Urging you to make good choices,_   
_Freddie_

_P.S. Forgive me, but I couldn't help but notice in your thoughts your concern about a love spell. Why don't you turn it over to the other side? I think you'll find that casting passionate sorcery upon you without your consent was never Deaky's intention._

Crawling into her dark closet, Ronnie found the love spell exactly where she had left it, shoved at the bottom of her traveling pack beneath the hefty weight of _Grimms' Fairy Tales._ Filled with nervous anticipation, she uncrumpled the ball of paper and flattened it upon the floor.

And then she turned it over to reveal an entirely different spell that she hadn't noticed that rainy day in the stable. It was the spell Freddie and Brian had told her all about, but had never been able to prove the existence of, because someone had torn it from Adam's spellbook.

_The Illness Cure Spell_

Scanning the page with hungry eyes, Ronnie read the spell at least three times. It was almost identical to the Pregnancy Spell. 

Ronnie leaned her forehead against the wall. John must have finally found the missing spell and was carrying it around, waiting for the right moment to explain to her what had happened that night. It was just an unlucky coincidence that the Illness Cure Spell shared a page with the Love Spell.

Guilt plunged an icy hand into her chest and squeezed tight. _Oh Ronnie. How could you ever think he would have cast a love spell on you just to save himself?_

Yes, she had only known him for six months, but she knew him well enough to know that he would never gamble with her heart like that.

Stumbling ungracefully to her feet, Ronnie opened her bedroom door to find John sitting at the bottom of the turret staircase in the dark, staring aimlessly into space. He looked up with glowing eyes as Ronnie approached.  
  
"I think this belongs to you," she whispered as she handed him the page that contained both spells.

John accepted the parchment, folding it neatly and tucking it into his pocket.  
  
When he didn't offer any further explanation, Ronnie asked quietly, "Would you like to tell me what happened that night?" 

John sighed; though silent, it deflated his shoulders noticeably, as if they were sagging under an emotional weight that was far too heavy to carry. Allowing his gaze to drift to the floor, like a withered autumn leaf, his voice promised her...

 _Some day, one day  
  
_ Ronnie couldn't blame him for not feeling up to the task of sharing what was no doubt an emotionally charged tale. After all, he had just learned how diligently she had tried to destroy his love for her and it was clear that he was severely disheartened.

And so, she nodded her understanding and sat beside him on the stairs, surrounded completely by his silence as she carefully guarded his pain.  
  
The time passed quickly; the sound of the clock chiming twelve o'clock came as a sudden surprise. And as the last echo of midnight drifted off into the air, an unfamiliar sensation rippled across Ronnie's pregnant belly. Wondering if she'd dreamt it, she pressed her hand against her stomach and waited for it to happen again.   
  
Sure enough, she felt a series of tiny fluttering kicks from the baby within.  
  
Without hesitation, Ronnie grasped John's hand and placed it against her belly. He inhaled sharply as he felt the baby tapping it's tiny toes insistently into his palm.  
  
She watched with something akin to wonder as a small smile slowly tugged at the corner of John's mouth; though he resisted it at first, he gradually let that awed smile bloom upon his pale face. And then, just as quickly, the smile sunk like the most doomed of ships, plunging his sharp teeth into his lower lip.

He quickly bowed his head.  
  
The very gesture filled Ronnie with a sadness that was so fierce she found herself gently lifting John's chin with her index finger. As he was forced to meet her gaze, his silver irises gleamed in the dark, revealing the full extent of the yearning he had so valiantly tried to hide from her. A terrible mixture of joy and sorrow drowned within his ethereal stare. The sheer intensity of it nearly flattened her against the wall.  
  
It reminded her so undeniably of the Black Queen in her dream that her hand tightened over John's, pressing his fingers more insistently against her rounded stomach, her fingernails gently raking his skin. She was on the edge of the cliff again, so close to stepping off it and plunging into the deep, eternal love below...  
  
John saved her by breaking the bittersweet moment in half, turning his hand over and gripping her fingers. Carefully, he masked his emotions as he pulled her to her feet. Ronnie wondered if he realized he was pulling her back from the edge of the cliff, as well.

As he escorted her to her bedroom door, Ronnie remembered his note, asking her permission to escort her on her journey.  
  
Turning at the threshold, she whispered, "Thank you for offering to bring me to the Virgin Forest."  
  
John's eyes anxiously searched hers as he waited for her answer.  
  
"I accept."   
  
As soon as the words left her lips, she could have sworn she saw a glimmer of hope in John's eyes before he bid her goodnight with a slight incline of his head.

Ronnie watched him ascend the turret staircase, wondering what it was he wanted to show her.

**Early April**

The fog was thick and dense as it swirled around the trees that made up the southern forest. As Anita quietly closed the castle door behind her, she faced the wilderness bravely.

 _I take a step outside and I breath the air_  
 _And I slam the door and I'm on my way  
_  
She trudged into the woods as the somber memory of her friends' farewells weighed heavily on her heart. She had said goodbye to everyone the night before, as it had been her plan to leave very early this morning. Her farewell to Brian had been particularly strained.

Anita winced as she recalled the way she had politely extended her hand to him. How, instead of shaking her hand, Brian had grasped her fingers and pulled her into his arms.

She had allowed herself to bury her face in his shoulder for only a few moments so that she could regain her composure. She didn't want him to see her tears because they would only tell him how much she dreaded leaving. She didn't want him to convince her to stay.

_I won't lay no blame_   
_I won't call you names_   
_'Cause I've made my break_

As if he had sensed her thoughts, Brian whispered in her ear, "Stay, my love. My love, please stay."

His words nearly ripped Anita's composure to shreds.

"Don't stray, my love," Brian murmured as he rocked her gently. "What's wrong, my love?"

He said no more, allowing his question to hover in the air around them.

"It's just time for me to go," she mumbled before she carefully extracted herself from his arms.

_And I won't look back_   
_I've turned my back_   
_On those endless games_

Brian's beautiful green eyes told her that he didn't believe her, but instead of pressuring her further, he asked when she would be leaving in the morning. She told him six o'clock.

And then, knowing that Brian would be waiting for her at the front door at that time (whether to dissuade her or escort her, she couldn't be sure), Anita had left an entire hour early.  
  
 _There's a road ahead_  
 _And there's no way back home_

Anita spent the better part of an hour pushing back wayward tree branches and stumbling through the dark. When the first pink streaks of dawn finally brightened the sky, a tear trickled down her face to greet the new day.

There were a million things calling her back to the castle that had become her home and the people within who had become her family. But Brian was calling more loudly than anything else.  
  
Once upon a time, he had been her flame of hope.  
  
 _Oh but I have to say_  
 _Leaving home ain't easy_

A brisk morning breeze blew her tear away. Forcing all sentimental thoughts aside, Anita reminded herself that everyone had to move on at some point in their lives and that flames were merely illusions.  
  
_Oh I never thought it would be easy_  
 _Leaving on your own_

And though _Guide to Prostitution_ was a relatively small book, it's weight felt heavier than a brick as Anita traveled deeper into the fog.  
  
\---

Brian had known all along that Anita would leave earlier than she said. 

That's why he had slept on the floor of the dining room, his cloak already fastened around his neck and his traveling bag ready at his side. He was already wide awake by the time Anita descended the stairs and slipped quietly out the door.  
  
Brian crept out of the dining room and watched from the entryway window as she disappeared into the forest.

_Leaving home ain't easy_   
_Leaving on your own_

Stepping out into the courtyard, Brian pulled his cloak tightly around his shoulders, warding off the morning chill in the air. His fingers trembled with anxiety as he waited, giving her a head start so she wouldn't suspect he was following her.  
  
 _Still trying to persuade me that_  
 _Leaving home ain't necessarily the only way_

"I'll find you, Anita," Brian whispered, his voice exploding into small bursts of icy fog. "No matter what it takes."

And slinging his bag over his shoulder, he entered the southern woods.  
  
\---

It was later that evening when Freddie dropped John and Ronnie off in a small woodsy clearing outside a bustling city. It had been agreed that the journey to the Virgin Forest would be too far for Lily to fly all the way and so, Freddie had taken them half way, with the intent of seeing Lily safely back home. 

"Now don't you forget about me, darlings," Freddie warned them. "I'll meet you here in a week's time, at dusk."  
  
John nodded his acknowledgement as he climbed off Lily and politely extended his arms to Ronnie.

Ronnie gazed down at him, recalling his note.

_You won't feel my touch unless your safety is at risk._

Figuring that her safety certainly would be at risk if she tried to tumble off Lily without assistance, Ronnie raised her arms and allowed him John to lift her into the air and place her securely on the ground.

As she turned to fetch her traveling pack, she witnessed Freddie tucking a tiny white scroll, tied with black ribbon, into one of the side pockets.

"If you find fear overtaking you," he whispered with a meaningful gleam in his eye, "I urge you to read this."

And then, with a flash of white wings, he and Lily were gone.

An owl hooted deep within the trees. As the sunset in the distance sucked the light out of the forest, Ronnie turned and came face to face with an uncanny likeness of John, in the form of a poster tacked haphazardly to a tree.

Bold, black letters declared:  
  
 **WANTED  
THE BLACK QUEEN  
DEAD OR ALIVE**

White, hot alarm soared through Ronnie's chest as she slowly reached out and touched the crude drawing, running her fingers over the Black Queen's empty eyes, his wild black hair, his pointed fangs, the eyebrows that were arched in warning...  
  
...and the crown of thorns that was outlined so sharply she almost feared she'd pierce her finger upon it.  
  
 _It's just a drawing,_ Ronnie chided herself. _A really realistic drawing..._

Fingers clad in black leather laced themselves between her own fingers and trailed her hand down the wanted poster, gently tearing her away from it. As soon as she was a safe distance away from the Black Queen's picturesque face, John disentangled his fingers from hers.  
  
Ronnie spun around, not bothering to hide the concern that she knew was shining brightly in her eyes.   
  
While John had already taken precautions to hide his black fingernails and the lion tattoo that was etched into his skin, his face was still completely exposed to the night. His eyebrows were relaxed, a reassuring smile hovering on his lips.   
  
He wasn't afraid.  
  
But Ronnie was. The city folk didn't know who John Deacon was. They only knew the vengeful Black Queen who had dried all the seas to dust and purposefully destroyed their crops, who preyed on their virgin daughters and harbored magic that was dangerous as death itself...  
  
Ronnie remembered the frightening tales that had become lore in every town in Nevermore, the stories that had instilled an overwhelming superstitious fear in her. The city folk wouldn't just fear him. They would have let that fear fester into pure and utter _hatred.  
  
_ Dead or alive wasn't an empty threat. They wouldn't hesitate to kill him. _  
  
_An unfamiliar, fierce protectiveness washed over Ronnie as she pulled the hood of John's cloak over his crown of thorns and down around his face, hiding his features in shadow.  
  
She knew she had to keep him safe at all costs.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains extra angst, scenes of violence, and references to sex.

**That Night**  
  
The stars in the night sky were clear and bright, reflecting off the waves of the Seven Seas of Rhye like scattered diamonds.  
  
But John was hardly concerned with the stars. As he sat in the sand, he had eyes only for Ronnie as she restlessly paced to and fro across the beach. Her dark curls fluttered in the nocturnal breeze as she walked along the shoreline, her feet sinking in wet sand as the water lapped at her ankles.   
  
She was so lovely it made John's heart ache.  
  
But she was also in pain. 

For an entire half hour, Ronnie had tread through the eddying waves, endlessly running her hands over her pregnant belly as she took deep, unsteady breaths. She was trying to walk, massage, and breathe the pain away, like Sarina had taught her, but to no avail.  
  
When John had extended his hand to her, knowing he could take away her contractions in only seconds, Ronnie had only smiled sadly at him and insisted that she'd be all right. And yet, she wasn't, but all John could do was keep his distance and watch over her, painfully aware that she was still avoiding his touch.  
  
Ronnie stopped suddenly, pressing her hands against her lower back as she threw her head back and let out a sharp cry. John slowly rose to his feet, though he kept his arms tightly folded against his chest. If only she knew how alarmingly close he was to sweeping her into his embrace without her consent, just to free her from this infuriating pain!

As if she had sensed his impulse, Ronnie turned around. John caught her gaze before she could look away, noticing how young - and so very lost - she looked as her pain forced her to clench her toes into the wet sand.  
  
John slowly unfolded his arms, his white eyes flashing in the dark, urging her to come to him.  
  
Ronnie hesitated, wearing the expression of one who has been completely and utterly conquered, as she shifted against the tide. Her eyes pleaded with him as she wrestled with her own defeat.  
  
Unable to bear her suffering for one moment longer, John insistently held his arms out to her.  
  
And that was all it took. Ronnie abandoned her unease to the waves, splashing water in her wake as she ran up the sandy dune and threw herself into John's embrace.  
  
The moment John caught her, he fumbled with her cloak, slipping his hands underneath and pressing his palms against her lower back. She let out a sob of relief against his shoulder as his magic instantly began to knead her pain away.  
  
John closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against her hair as he sent waves of warmth undulating through her hips, his healing touch unfurling towards the tension in her belly. Ronnie's knees went weak as her body succumbed to his remedy and John carefully lowered her to the sand.

Balancing her upon his thighs, John cradled her in his arms, his stomach doing a small backflip when she willingly tucked her head beneath his chin and rested her cheek against his heart, protecting it with her warmth. He watched over her as she fell into a deep, peaceful sleep that was free of pain and devoid of dreams. 

As the moon drenched John and Ronnie with iridescent light, the wind enfolded them in a sand swept hug, encouraging John to hold her tighter, warning him to never let her go.   
  
The next day, Ronnie would marvel at how gently the waves had rocked her to sleep.  
  
 _No,_ John thought to himself. _That wasn't the waves.  
_  
 _That was me._  
  
 **The Next Afternoon**  
  
Anita was officially impoverished, without a penny to her name.  
  
The last of her hard earned money had paid for a one night stay at a local inn in the first town she had come across. A thorough search the following morning had revealed that the town's theaters were still closed and the respectable establishments were not currently hiring.  
  
Which left one terrifying option.  
  
Anita had managed to remain calm and composed as she left the inn and traveled to the darker side of town, traversing dusty roads and cobblestoned nightmares. But the moment she found herself staring up at the black shuttered windows of the town's whorehouse, that composure slipped away to shatter on the sidewalk, along with all her dreams.  
  
Covering her face with her hands, she let out a single devastated sob, unable to believe that she was about to begin a lustrous career as a prostitute.   
  
It was officially her only choice, because starving in the woods really wasn't an alternative. Not yet, at least.

The sweet, overpowering scent of expensive perfume surrounded Anita as an arm wrapped itself around her shoulders.  
  
"There, there, honey," a soothing voice murmured.  
  
Sniffing back the rest of her tears, Anita lifted her head to find she was being consoled by a voluptuous, middle-aged woman.  
  
She was _beautiful,_ with long, brown curls that framed a face adorned with thick lashes, ruby red lips, and a perfect beauty mark near her chin. The diamond earrings that dangled from her perfectly shaped ears contrasted in a most pleasing way with the dark velvet of her dress, which clung to lush curves and exposed an ample amount of cleavage.  
  
The woman's voice was husky and smooth, with a comforting undertone of kindness. "You're not the first pretty girl I've found crying on my doorstep. Are you in trouble, love?"  
  
Anita wiped her eyes and nodded.  
  
The woman gently brushed a strand of Anita's red hair away from her face and observed her bright blue eyes, her accentuated cheekbones, the curve of her lips....  
  
And then she smiled and hooked her arm companionably through Anita's. "Welcome to my love shack, sweetheart. We're going to take good care of you."  
  
\---  
  
The day passed quickly as John and Ronnie journeyed through forest, across meadows, and over mountains. They made excellent time as they avoided towns and skirted cities, never passing another soul...  
  
...until nightfall.  
  
As they searched for a place to set up camp, the comfortable silence was gradually overtaken by laughter in the night.  
  
Ronnie froze and reached for John's arm. In the distance ahead, tiny dots of fire bobbed along the tree line; squinting, John observed torches that led to a magnificent bonfire.  
  
The laughter grew louder before it was drowned out by a fiddle, followed by a roar of approval.  
  
Ronnie tugged John's arm urgently.   
  
"We have to go," she whispered as she turned away from the plethora of sound, only to find her path blocked by a distant lake that glistened in the moonlight.  
  
With an air of determination, she left the lake behind as she hurried in the opposite direction, which revealed something much worse: a dramatic drop from a rocky precipice.  
  
John laced his fingers through Ronnie's and pulled her confidently in the direction of the celebration, but Ronnie resisted.  
  
"John, no," she whispered. "If people find you, they'll - "  
  
John quickly put a finger against her lips and shook his head, indicating that she needn't worry about that. His voice was optimistic, indicating that he wasn't afraid.  
  
 _Start believing everything's gonna be all right_  
  
Yet the gaze Ronnie turned upon him was brimming with fear.  
  
John's expression was soft as he looked down at her, remembering how the evening before, he had gently dragged her away from the wanted poster of the Black Queen. How she had protectively lifted his hood to hide his face from those who would hunt him.   
  
She didn't fear him. Rather, she feared _for_ him, and the very thought made his heart flutter with unrestrained joy.  
  
In response to Ronnie's prolonged hesitation, John gestured around them, indicating they didn't have a choice. It was too dangerous to try to ford the river or climb down the cliff in the dark. It would be foolish to go back the way they had come, when they had made so much progress. And it would be useless to stay where they were; they'd surely get no rest surrounded by so much noise.  
  
No, their only option was to pass through the party and come out safely on the other side.  
  
Digging in his traveling pack, John pulled out his black leather gloves. They creaked as he slipped them over his long fingers. And then he gave Ronnie one last reassuring smile before he lifted his hood to obscure his face.  
  
\---  
  
As luck would have it, the celebration at the edge of the wood was a masquerade. Though Ronnie and John tried to pass through unnoticed, the celebrators were warmly welcoming and as there was no shortage of masks on hand, the two unsynchronized soulmates accepted what they were given.   
  
Ronne couldn't help but feel slightly relieved as she adorned a mask of glittering white. John's mask was black as night and covered most of his face, perfectly concealing the space between his eyebrows and his upper lip. There were slits where the eyes should have been, which mostly hid his glowing gaze.  
  
The chances of John being recognized as the Black Queen were slim indeed but even so, Ronnie held his hand tightly as they weaved through the thick crowd.  
  
The music grew louder and more difficult to ignore as they traveled deeper into the throng of people. The beat of a drum rumbled through the ground, throbbing into the soles of Ronnie's feet and echoing in her ears.  
  
She and John were forced to stop when they came upon a multitude of dancing couples, whirling around a large bonfire that was emitting sparks of red and gold into the night sky. Ronnie glanced up at John to see if perhaps they should try to go around, but he was staring longingly at the bodies in motion, his fingers twitching as he unconsciously tapped his heel to the beat.  
  
 _He misses music,_ she thought sadly to herself.  
  
Though Ronnie's natural instincts were warning her to get to the safety of the forest as quickly as possible, her mind asked what would be the harm in one dance? Their faces were well concealed and the crowd seemed friendly enough...  
  
Before she could change her mind, Ronnie lifted John's traveling pack from his shoulder and tucked it in a shadowed spot nearby with her own. And then, standing at the edge of the circle of dancers, she held her hands out to him.  
  
John tilted his head, clearly astonished at this sudden change of heart. Almost afraid to believe that she was truly asking him to dance, he finally came forward and placed his leather clad fingertips against hers and slid his fingers up the length of her own. 

When his hands were safely in her grasp, Ronnie offered him a small, encouraging smile as she pulled him into the whirlwind of dancers.  
  
As they bumped into an especially enthusiastic couple, John wrapped an arm protectively around Ronnie's waist and pulled her close. His free hand clasped hers tightly as they began to move.  
  
The pulsating music was infectious, the energy from the surrounding dancers intoxicating. Ronnie and John waltzed at a furious pace, in tandem and in step with all the other deliriously happy souls.  
  
Though every fiber of her being was filled with excitement, Ronnie couldn't help but think of how similar this scenario was to the night she had met Valentino. It was so many years ago but Ronnie could still see the banners welcoming the men home from the Ogre Battle, and the swirling couples on the dance floor, and Valentino sweeping her off her feet and spinning her 'round and 'round, holding her close and brushing his lips against hers as she dared to believe that he was the one...  
  
Ronnie shook the tedious recollection away. Valentino had ruined enough memories and she wasn't going to let him steal this moment away from her.  
  
She stared in wonder at John as he whisked her past flames that were swaying to their own heated beat. She would have never thought John a dancer, yet here he was, effortlessly leading her around the fire in a high energy jig. His eyes were shining brightly through the slits of his mask and a small smile danced upon his lips, though he was clearly making an effort to keep his expression carefully controlled.  
  
 _Oh John,_ Ronnie thought wistfully. _If I could make you smile..._  
  
And in fact, the desire to do so became so great that she found herself squeezing his hand and offering him a brilliant smile of her own, her eyes encouraging him to let go of his restraint and share in her unbridled joy.  
  
Something in her smile must have torn John's guard down, for he unexpectedly wrapped both arms around Ronnie's hips, lifting her and spinning her in a dizzying circle as he held her tightly against his body. Ronnie let out a shriek of gleeful surprise as she threw her arms around his neck.  
  
And then John _grinned_. He showed her every one of his white pointed teeth as his eyes crinkled in amusement and he let out a silent laugh, sending a jolt of electricity through Ronnie's heart.  
  
He slowed the circling motion gradually, though he made no move to put Ronnie down. And Ronnie, in turn, made no attempt to free herself. Safely supported in John's arms, she gazed down at him, her cheeks flushed and her smile bright.  
  
It was as if time had stopped completely for just the two of them. They alone were suspended in that one moment as the dancers continued to spin around them in a colorful blur.  
  
John's smile disappeared as he slowly released Ronnie, allowing her to slide down the length of his body until her feet touched the ground. His face was just inches from hers, his heart hammering against her own. Without so much as a warning, he pressed his lips against hers.  
  
And Ronnie let it happen.  
  
It was nothing like the kiss they had shared at Freddie's Christmas Trustivity. That kiss had been innocent, harmless, chaste...  
  
This kiss, on the other hand, _burned._ It was longer, deeper, and so very desperate. It screamed with the fire of repressed emotions being set free.

Those wild emotions invaded Ronnie's heart, conjuring images that fragmented her mind like broken glass. Visions of _fingers_ consumed her, so obviously representing her fear of being touched, as her mind's eye showed her John's fingers interlaced between hers as they slept in the same bed, John's fingers slowly guiding her own up the neck of his bass guitar, John's thumb tracing the rouge on her cheek after she had failed to make his love for her disappear...  
  
And then...  
  
John's fingers surging with hot magic as he impregnated her, Valentino's fingers squeezing her hand as he asked her to join him and his _woman_ in late night acts of free love, the Black Queen's fingers grasping her waist as he parted her legs on the pumpkin littered mountainside in her nightmare...  
  
 _You are mine, I possess you_  
 _  
_Those disjointed evocations were the closest Ronnie had ever come to intimacy, until now. John's kiss ignited a foreign spark of desire deep in her abdomen and that spark was threatening to explode, like fireworks.

_I belong to you forever_

With a small moan of fear, Ronnie ripped herself from John's arms and ran from him, ramming into unsuspecting dancers and feeling the heat of the fire, so much hotter and brighter than before, scorching her face. She ran until she reached the edge of the forest; slipping through the trees, she leaned her back against an old oak and breathlessly tore off her mask.  
  
Tears burned her eyes as stared up at the moon, barely visible between the tree branches, and wondered why she couldn't just let herself love him.  
  
 _It's because you don't have the faintest idea how to love somebody_ , a voice within reminded her bitterly. _Because you're five years too late!_  
  
And it was the truth. Years ago, while all the other girls were experiencing their first tastes of love, Ronnie had been immersing herself in epic romances in the village library. She had been swept away by fantasy when she should have been firmly rooted in reality.   
  
She wasn't one bit surprised when she heard twigs cracking beneath someone's weight and leaves rustling like hushed whispers. 

Ronnie had expected it wouldn't be difficult for John to find her. Just like it hadn't been difficult for him to find her the night they'd met, when he'd crawled out of the well and cornered her against a tree.

Exactly like he was doing now.

Ronnie's voice was low and unsteady as John approached. "You promised me!"  
  
John's broken promise hung in the air between them, meaningless and tattered.

 _I promise I'll respect your wishes and keep my distance. You won't feel my touch unless your safety is at risk.  
  
_ Slowly removing his mask, John nodded, letting Ronnie pretend that his broken promise was the cause of all of her anguish. But his expression, devoid of regret, told her that he knew perfectly well that there was so much more to it than that.   
  
Ronnie pressed her back against the tree as John came closer, his gaze brimming with a vulnerability that was positively heartbreaking. He stood so close to her that she could feel the soft thrum of his magic as it radiated off his skin; he stared down at her as if he could see right through her, as he tried to understand her inability to let herself love.

She had never felt so exposed in her entire life.  
  
John held up his hand, showing her the words he had written in mud on the palm of his hand before he found her. The words that his curse prohibited him from saying out loud. _  
  
Why do you fear me?_

Ronnie tried to move away but John planted his hands against the rough bark of the tree, trapping her between his arms in the gentlest of ways.

"Because I love you, that's why!" Ronnie blurted out.  
  
John's face softened, his eyes gradually filling with empathy as they glowed in the dark. As a traitor tear tore down Ronnie's cheek at lightning speed, he reached out to wipe it away.

Ronnie caught his hand before he could touch her. As his long, pale fingers curled over her own, she felt the cool mud from his palm smudging her skin.  
  
 _Damn his beautiful fingers!_ she thought angrily to herself as she cried out, "I'm afraid, John! I'm so afraid because I've never loved anyone the way I love you! The sheer force of it is turning me inside out! I didn't even know it was possible to feel this way about someone!"  
  
Pulling her hand away, Ronnie lowered her voice, though her eyes retained the look of a feral animal. "It was _you_ I saw in the northern woods that day! _Y_ _ou_ are my deepest, darkest desire! _You_ are what almost claimed my life in that forest of dark magic!"

John leaned his body into hers, trying to offer her a safe haven as he wrestled with her twitching fingers, as he fought with her restless, resistant hands.

Tears continued to spill down Ronnie's cheeks as she tried to push him away. "This love is consuming me, John! And I don't know how to handle it!"  
  
John's voice shot into the night like a musket ball as he caught her wrists and pinned them above her head.   
  
_It's just a simple fact of life! It can happen to any one!_  
  
Ronnie's eyes widened in fear as he hovered over her. His intent had been to ground her, to calm her, but he had only succeeded in frightening her.

Because pinning her to a tree was exactly something the Black Queen would do.

Ronnie's blood ran cold as her thoughts echoed his, as his actions reminded her of the delirium filled nightmare the Great Sickness had so generously gifted her, the one where Valentino had pressed her against a tree and held her wrists captive above her head as his face morphed into John's...   
  
But even so, Ronnie swallowed her fear as John's words threaded a path into her heart. Twisting her wrist out of his grasp, she allowed her hand to rest in his against the rough tree bark.  
  
"What I'm trying to say," she whispered, "is that I don't know how to be your lover. I only know how to be your friend."  
  
The eerie glow of John's white eyes intensified as he mouthed her name, a silent plea to her...  
  
Ronnie shook her head. "John, I know it's difficult to hear that now, but I'm sure things will become easier after we annul the marriage in a couple of weeks."  
  
She had meant the words to be comforting but it was clearly the wrong thing to say.   
  
John released her as if she had stung him.  
  
\---  
  
Ronnie's words echoed in the forest around them as John took a definitive step backward.  
  
 _After we annul the marriage..._  
  
Ronnie's brow furrowed as she soaked in his bitterly disappointed expression. "John, you _knew_ all along that was the agreement!"  
  
John's lip curled in derision. Yes, he had known all along that was an option, but that was _before_ Ronnie had grown so protective of his identity, _before_ she had taken him by the hand and asked him to dance with her.  
  
Before she had _kissed him back_ in the midst of strangers twirling around a raging bonfire. Before he knew how deeply she loved him.  
  
Frustrated by his inability to speak, John shook his head miserably.  
  
 _Why can't you see it  
  
_ "See what?" Ronnie whispered.  
  
John crouched low to the ground and, grabbing a stick, scratched his unspoken words into the dirt.  
  
 _Your fear of love isn't a reason to leave someone you love behind  
  
_ He could tell by the stricken look on Ronnie's face that he had hit a chord deep within her. Taking advantage of the moment, John slowly straightened to a standing position and threw the stick into the trees. _  
  
You win, you lose  
It's a chance you have to take with love  
_  
Ronnie folded her arms. "Everyone believes something is wrong with me because I won't take that chance. But it's _my_ choice and that's why you need to let me _go."  
_  
John's lower lip trembled dangerously as he turned away. He nearly jumped when Ronnie came forward and grabbed his hand.  
  
"I _will_ break the curse before I go," she promised him. "I won't leave you like this."  
  
Blood rushed to prickle John's white eyes as his magic sparked dangerously in his veins. He felt positively ill as he gazed down at her.  
  
How could Ronnie think that mattered to him now? As if he even _cared_ about the curse anymore! What good was living life as a normal human being if he couldn't have her?  
  
John molded his words carefully before he released them, making sure they wouldn't shake with the force of an earthquake once they reached Ronnie's ears.  
  
 _I don't want my freedom_  
 _There's no reason for living with a broken heart_

And then he pulled his hand away. The feel of her fingers slipping through his made the lump of sorrow in his throat expand. Practically choking on it, he disappeared into the shadows between the trees.  
  
John didn't go far; though Ronnie had managed to drive another stake through his heart, he wouldn't leave her. He went far enough to find a shadow to hide in; tossing his mask on the ground, he leaned his forearm against a tree and buried his face against it.  
  
Tears that were hotter than boiling water rolled down John's cheeks. They sizzled as they landed in the cold, dew dampened leaves below.   
  
Though it wasn't Freddie's fault, John cursed him anyway. He cursed his friend for being so optimistic, for being so persistent, for believing that Ronnie would one day be his, when John knew she would _never_ accept his love.  
  
Whispers in the trees forced John to glance up and take note of his surroundings. It wasn't Ronnie; no, these were male voices and there were many of them, though it was too dark to tell exactly which direction they were coming from.  
  
Not bothering to wipe the tears from his face, John crouched low and reached for his mask. But before his fingertips so much as brushed it, a heavy boot stepped on it, shattering the mask into a dozen black fragments.  
  
John gazed up into a pair of angry, bloodshot eyes.  
  
"Hello, Black Queen," a spiteful voice slurred.  
  
Before John could defend himself, a fist appeared out of the darkness. John saw white stars as pain exploded through his nose.   
  
And then everything went black as something was thrown over his head.  
  
\---  
  
Brian sighed and ran exasperated fingers through his unruly mane of curls. The soft murmur of conversation in the bar surrounded him like a security blanket as he mentally retraced his steps and wondered where he'd gone wrong.  
  
The bartender, a skinny young man with a slew of greasy brown hair, plunked a frosty mug down in front of him.  
  
"Either you lost your life savings or the love of your life," he said, his voice slightly muffled by the cigarette between his teeth. "Which is it?"  
  
Brian blinked in surprise. "How do you know that?"  
  
The young man took a deep drag from the cigarette and threw it out the open window.   
  
"Because you're all the same," he replied, blowing white smoke over his shoulder. "All you chaps who come to bars on Friday nights and order nice refreshing mugs of ice water with mint leaves."  
  
Brian considered this thoughtfully before he reluctantly nodded his agreement and extended his hand. "Brian."  
  
The bartender shook his hand with a firm grip. "Ratty."  
  
"Well then, Ratty, now that we're properly acquainted, I can tell you I lost the love of my life."  
  
Ratty grunted his acknowledgement. "And you're looking for her in this hellhole?"  
  
Brian drummed his fingers upon the stained wood of the bar as his frustration resurfaced and he admitted to himself that he'd so carelessly lost Anita in this hellhole.  
  
After she'd left the castle the day before, Brian had trailed her quite easily, all the way to this ramshackle town. He'd booked an evening at the inn she was staying at, he'd kept a careful eye on her the following morning as she went from establishment to establishment, asking about employment.  
  
What happened after that was a bit of a mystery. Apparently, Anita had returned to the inn late in the afternoon. By the time Brian had mustered the courage to knock on her door, there was no response. An inquiry at the front desk revealed she'd already checked out.

Brian was certain she was still in town somewhere. It wouldn't make sense for her to leave in the encroaching darkness, when the next town was miles upon miles away...  
  
Instead of telling Ratty all that, Brian merely admitted, "I've looked everywhere for her."  
  
Ratty eyed him suspiciously. "Everywhere?"  
  
Brian looked uncertain. "Well, just about everywhere, yes..."  
  
"Did you check the brothel around the corner?"  
  
"That won't be necessary," Brian murmured, though the very thought of Anita conspiring with strange men in the darkness of a rented room produced an uncomfortable, jagged sensation that knifed him beneath his ribs.  
  
_Jealousy,_ he thought irritably to himself.  
  
Ratty observed Brian's uncomfortable expression with raised eyebrows. "No?"  
  
Brian's fingers tightened on his mug, seeking comfort from the cool droplets of condensation that dampened his hands.   
  
"She'd never," he whispered.  
  
Ratty leaned casually against the bar. "She would if she's desperate enough."  
  
Brian stared into his mug and watched the tiny mint leaf swirling around the melting ice. He'd hate to think that Anita was like that leaf, drowning helplessly in her own pride.  
  
Ratty nodded knowingly. "Meet me behind the bar at eleven. I'll take you there."  
  
\---  
  
With a heavy heart, Ronnie returned to the scene of the dance to retrieve their traveling packs. After she had slung them over her shoulder, she trudged sorrowfully through the dancers, trying not to think of the passionate kiss that had transpired right there by the fire.  
  
There was no _time_ to think about that; she had to hurry! Though John was safely out of sight in the woods, they needed to leave immediately. It had been foolish to linger as long as they had.  
  
Angry shouts in the distance captured Ronnie's attention. An alarming sense of foreboding swirled deep in the pit of her stomach as the music abruptly stopped and the crowd began to push her in the direction of the loud voices.  
  
Two burly men were roughly escorting a man with a burlap bag over his head up a rickety staircase to a wooden platform that had formerly acted as a stage for the band. But the musicians and the instruments were now gone.  
  
As she was swept through the crowd like a leaf in a swift river, Ronnie watched with mounting horror as the burlap bag was torn from the man's head and she recognized John's face, stained with blood. A shiny black ring was forming around his right eye, leftover blood tears smudged his cheeks, and a gash in his lower lip spouted red. Fear raked claws into Ronnie's chest, down her heart and through her stomach, as she realized he had already received a severe beating.   
  
"No," she whispered as John was pushed roughly to the ground and kicked in the stomach. _"NO!"_  
  
"Ladies and gentlemen!" The first man, the one who had hit John, yelled over the murmur of their accumulating audience. "I present to you...the Black Queen!"  
  
The second man, who was white as a ghost, tore John's leather gloves off to reveal his black fingernails and the lion tattoo etched into the back of his right hand. The gasps of the crowd echoed in Ronnie's ears as she threw the traveling packs onto the ground and tried to shove her way through the thick swarm of people.  
  
"Our country was green and all our rivers wide!" The Hitman shouted as White Man hauled John to his feet. "Until this monster claimed it for his own!"  
  
The audience erupted into a furious roar.  
  
The Hitman, fueled by the crowd's anger, began to cry out the Black Queen's crimes. For each crime, John received a brutal punch in the stomach, courtesy of White Man. Ronnie winced, feeling each blow reverberating through her own heart.  
  
"He took away the source of all life - our water!"  
  
The crowd jeered.  
  
"He destroyed our crops!"  
  
Their enraged screams grew louder.  
  
"He defiled our daughters, he tortured our sons!"  
  
A shower of _thuds_ rained through the air as people began to throw rocks at the stage. Ronnie fell to her hands and knees to dodge the flying stones and found it was much easier to crawl through legs than it was to push past wide shoulders.  
  
"What say you to these accusations, Black Queen?" The Hitman demanded.  
  
Springing to her feet, Ronnie felt the crowd take a step back as John's white eyes glowed with defiance. The torches that lined the stage suddenly blazed with a blinding orange light as the flames shot into the night.   
  
And though he could barely stand, John bared his fanged teeth and spit at the Hitman.  
  
The Hitman struck John with such brute force that John went down immediately, his elbows hitting the wooden boards of the stage.  
  
"John!" Ronnie screamed above the howls of the crowd. "John!"  
  
"And what's the punishment?" The Hitman roared as he loomed over John and unsheathed a magnificent sword of silver. The steel rang through the night with a sharpness that rivaled the blade.  
  
 _"Death!"_ The forest folk chanted.  
  
Finally arriving at the front of the crowd, Ronnie bolted towards the stage. The moment she reached the steps, she was pulled back by two arms clamping themselves around her waist.  
  
As she writhed in her captor's grasp, she shouted, "Let him go!"  
  
White Man sneered. "We will not let him go!"  
  
"Behold!" The Hitman shouted triumphantly. "One of the Black Queen's prized virgins!"  
  
Ronnie grit her teeth. How _dare_ he make such an assumption!  
  
Desperately trying to think of a way to save John, Ronnie elbowed her captor. As he grunted and loosened his grip on her, she ripped open her cloak to expose her pregnant belly to the vast gathering of souls watching.  
  
"Do I look like a virgin to you?" she growled. Clearly all the forest folk wanted to believe that the Black Queen only toyed with virgins; perhaps they'd spare John if she could make them believe she _wasn't_ a virgin and therefore, not his victim...  
  
But her statement only further cemented John's guilt in the crowd's eyes. They shrieked in fury as White Man hooked John's arms behind his back and yelled, "He's deflowered this young maiden! He's planted his monster seed within her!"  
  
The incriminating claim earned John a visit from the Hitman's sword. As the Hitman slowly ran the tip of the blade across John's pale cheek, Ronnie cried out in protest, demanding John's freedom until her voice went hoarse. Thrashing against the arms that were holding her so tightly, her cries were drowned out by the rabid cheers of those around her.  
  
The Hitman pointed the blade at John. "Your reign of terror ends here, Black Queen."  
  
A sudden hush fell over the crowd as the moment of execution arrived.  
  
John swayed on his knees, blood trickling in a steady stream from his nose and from the laceration on his cheek; it fell to the wooden stage with a soft _drip, drip, drip._ Slowly, he looked up from under his dark eyebrows and gazed at Ronnie. The light in his eyes was gone.   
  
"John," Ronnie whispered, urging him with her eyes not to give in.  
  
John shook his head, though it clearly caused him great pain to do so. The almost imperceptible gesture reminded Ronnie of the words he had recently uttered to her in the forest...

...how he had said he didn't want his freedom, that there was no reason for living with a broken heart. She hoped with all her heart that wasn't his reason for giving up the fight.

The more likely reason, however, seemed to be the pain and blood loss that were slowly beginning to lay claim to him. John wrapped a trembling arm around his ribs, some of which were likely broken, as he accepted his fate, his voice reaching out to Ronnie one last time, infiltrating her soul and wrapping itself around her heart to protect her from what was to come.  
  
 _I still love you  
_  
And then, as White Man released his arms, John slumped forward and dug his now exposed black fingernails into the wood.

The Hitman lifted his sword into the air.  
  
Ronnie let out an agonized cry. Tearing her arms free, she hit her captor in the mouth with her elbow and shoved her heel into his groin. He swiftly dropped her with a yelp of pain.  
  
Before anyone else could stop her, Ronnie fled up the wooden stairs and across the stage just as the blade was swishing down through the air.  
  
"No!" she cried out as she threw herself over John, shielding him with her body. Pressing her cheek against his, she squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the painful sensation of a gallant silver sword stabbing her in the back.  
  
But all she felt was a whoosh of hot air as the torch flames swung down to burn low, and thunderous footsteps shaking the wooden boards beneath her as a sharp voice with a lovely accent shouted, "Stop!"  
  
The angry murmur of the crowd fell into the background, like the buzzing of a thousand infuriated bees, as Ronnie held John tighter, knowing that he was relinquishing his hold on the torches. Afraid that he was succumbing to his injuries, she let out a desperate sob and prayed to a higher power to spare him.

 _And if you need to take me instead, so be it!_  
  
The lovely accented voice was directly above her now. "Silence! All you people gather around!"  
  
The crowd obediently went quiet. Through her haze of despair, Ronnie guessed that whoever was speaking held some sort of power over them, though whether it was political prestige or magical might, she couldn't tell.  
  
The voice was calm, but also rife with anger. "You almost killed a being in cold blood tonight. You all know as well as I that this would have been glorified murder, as you can't execute a man without a fair trial. You've used your festivities to celebrate hate and fear. Shame on you all!"  
  
Ronnie allowed the voice to fade away with her adrenaline; it was replaced by an excruciating guilt that throbbed so insistently it made her head hurt, and a fear of losing John that was so strong it nearly blinded her.   
  
A gentle touch on her shoulder pulled her back to reality; Ronnie opened her eyes, blurry with tears, to see a young man with wild brown curls kneeling beside her. With the exception of his blue eyes, he looked astonishingly like Brian.  
  
Wondering if this is what it felt like to be delirious with sorrow, Ronnie mumbled, "Brian?"  
  
With a soft smile, he shook his head. "They call me Mad the Swine. I've come to save you."  
  
He coaxed her gently to her feet as all the people stood before the stage and watched. As he led a half conscious John to safety, Ronnie descended the stage steps and stood before the crowd.  
  
They parted, creating a path for her and hanging their heads with guilt as she passed them and retrieved the traveling packs. She didn't spare a glance for any of them; she didn't want to gaze into the eyes of people who allowed their joy to so easily curdle into rage.  
  
Within a matter of moments, Mad the Swine had slung the traveling backs over his shoulder and lifted Ronnie onto his horse behind John.   
  
Wrapping John tightly in her arms, Ronnie pressed her fingers against his chest, holding his heart safely in her hands as Mad led them into the cool, dark anonymity of the night.  
  
\---  
  
Anita stared at herself in the ornate mirror, her eyes wide as her trembling fingers attempted to apply eyeliner to her lower lids for the fifth consecutive time. _Guide to Prostitution_ lay open on the vanity; the vivid advice from the remaining chapters was spinning through her mind, merging with the tips she had received from the other prostitutes earlier that evening.  
  
 _Chapter Four: Foreplay. Chapter Five: Intercourse. Chapter Six: Self-Defense._  
  
She was only moments away from servicing her first customer and she felt ill.  
  
The eyeliner pencil slipped from Anita's fingers and clattered to the floor. Leaning her elbows against the vanity, she buried her face in her arms.  
  
"Oh Brian," she sobbed, furious at herself for thinking of him when she was trying so hard not to. Enraged at the fact that she was still turning to him, even though he was miles away. Even after everything he'd withheld from her.  
  
A sharp knock on the door made Anita sit up straight and dab at her smudged mascara with a wet handkerchief. "Come in!"  
  
The door opened to reveal the woman Anita had met on the street earlier. LuLu Belle, the proprietress of the whorehouse, was clad in a lovely silk robe of black and an encouraging smile.  
  
"You ready, honey?"   
  
_Ready as I'll ever be,_ Anita thought darkly to herself, but she merely nodded as she hurriedly reapplied her mascara and spread some rouge upon her cheekbones, to hide the splotches of her tears.  
  
LuLu held out her hand. Anita took it, though she wondered if she'd be able to let go of it when the time came.  
  
The dark hallway was empty as LuLu led Anita down the length of the blood red carpet. Candles glimmered in corners, suggestive whispers slipped beneath closed doors.  
  
LuLu stopped outside a door that was labeled with gold numbers. Room 39.  
  
Turning, she placed her hands on Anita's shoulders.  
  
"Sweetie, I know you're nervous," she said in a low voice. "But take heart. I got a glimpse of this one downstairs. He's young. And he has kind eyes."  
  
Anita tried to smile but failed.  
  
With one last reassuring squeeze, LuLu tapped loudly on the door before she opened it and gently nudged Anita inside.  
  
As the door closed behind her, Anita resisted the urge to run, to panic. Pulling her robe tighter around her, she stared at the hooded figure waiting at the window.  
  
His back was turned to her; shrouded as he was in his cloak, Anita couldn't form any sort of first impression.  
  
 _He's young,_ LuLu Belle's voice reminded her. _And he has kind eyes.  
_  
She could work with that. She was an actress, after all, and surely pretending to enjoy the company of a strange man was considered acting?  
  
Anita stepped out of her heels and let her robe drop open to reveal a glimpse of black lingerie, trimmed in lace.  
  
"Hello stranger," she whispered. She had meant it to sound sultry, but it sounded nervous at best.  
  
"Oh, I don't think we're strangers at all," the man said softly as he turned around.  
  
At the sound of his voice, Anita froze. And though the room was lit with flickering candlelight, it was the moon that revealed his face to her.  
  
It was the moon that showed her she was staring into the honest green eyes of Brian May.


	26. Chapter 26

The moment Anita overcame her shock, she closed her robe, wrapping it tightly around her body and folding her arms across her chest.  
  
"Brian, you have to go," she said in a low voice. "I'm expecting a...erm..."  
  
"A client?" Brian finished politely as he took a step forward, his hood falling back to reveal his curly brown locks.  
  
Anita backed away from him, her spine hitting the door as her fingers fished for the doorknob. "Y-yes. And he'll be here any moment..."  
  
Brian gazed at her sadly. _"I_ am your client, Anita."  
  
Anita stared at him blankly. Brian leaned his hip into the bed frame as he patiently waited for his words to sink into Anita's mind and dissolve into her heart.  
  
And when it did, her eyes flashed dangerously. _"You?"_   
  
Brian's brow furrowed with concern as he watched her begin the delicate process of falling apart.  
  
Tears pickled Anita's eyes as her stomach churned like butter. LuLu Belle had never gone over the policy of servicing a customer that you already _knew._ Was that even allowed? Wasn't that a...  
  
 _...conflict of interest,_ Anita thought desperately to herself.  
  
"If you wanted a bit of fun, couldn't you have chosen another whore?" Anita asked, attempting to infuse her words with venom. She was dismayed to find her voice only sounded small and pitiful.   
  
Even so, Brian's face fell. "Anita!"  
  
Anita turned and twisted the doorknob, fully intending to leave him there in the room alone. She was able to open the door a crack before Brian lunged forward, planting his hands against it and shutting it with a bang.  
  
Caught between Brian's arms, Anita leaned her forehead against the soft walnut of the closed door, refusing to look at him.  
  
"Do you really think so little of me, Anita?" Brian whispered into her ear. "Do you really think I traveled this far just to have my way with you?"  
  
"I don't know what to think anymore!"  
  
"That's why I need you to talk to me, Anita! I need you to explain to me why you're working _here,_ of all places!"  
  
Anita spun around, her eyes glinting with steel. "I thought you said I didn't ever have to explain myself to you!"  
  
Brian frowned. He _had_ said that, hadn't he? Back when he had found Anita trying to break into Freddie's room last fall...  
  
 _You don't have to explain yourself to me. Not now. Not ever._  
  
"I did say that, yes!" he admitted. "But you revoked that right when you ran away, when you worried me sick, when I found you in a _brothel!"_  
  
Before Anita could answer, a soft knock reverberated through the wooden door.   
  
"Anita?" LuLu's concerned voice asked. "Is everything all right?"  
  
Anita didn't answer immediately, which gave Brian time to lean closer, his voice low.  
  
"Have her kick me out if you wish. But I've already paid my fee for your _services._ And even if you won't speak to me, at least I know I've paid for a safe haven for you. At least I know I've bought you a good night's sleep."  
  
LuLu knocked louder. "Honey?"  
  
"At least for tonight, I know no one else can touch you," Brian whispered, finally allowing Anita to hear the anguish in his voice.  
  
Anita closed her eyes as a tear trickled down her cheek, dragging her carefully applied mascara off her eyelashes.   
  
"Everything's fine, LuLu," she finally managed to say.  
  
As LuLu's high heeled footsteps retreated reluctantly down the hall, Anita wiped angrily at her eyes. "So you came here and requested me as your whore just to talk to me?"   
  
It was such a typical Brian thing to do.  
  
Brian nodded and took her by the hand. Anita could tell by the way his eyes were shining brightly in the dimly lit room that his heart was very full.   
  
She let him lead her towards the window. He had paid for her company, after all, so she couldn't exactly refuse him. Not until the morning, at least.  
  
After they had arrived at the windowpanes that were stenciled with an early April frost, Brian laced his fingers through Anita's as he took a deep breath.  
  
"Hey little babe you're changing," he whispered.  
  
Anita's eyes widened, recognizing the words to a song Brian had written so long ago.  
  
"Babe, are you feeling sore?" He wasn't singing - no, his curse prevented that - but his words were still filled with an empathy that stung her like a bee.  
  
Because she _would_ have been very sore indeed if Brian hadn't intervened and they both knew it.  
  
Brian released one of Anita's hands to reach forward and run his thumb across her cheek, swiping away the smudged mascara. "It ain't no use in pretending. You don't wanna play no more."  
  
His fingers trailed down her chin to pluck the collar of her prostitution robe. "It's plain that you ain't no baby. What would your mother say?"  
  
Anita implored him with her eyes not to go down that path.  
  
But Brian didn't hold back as his forefinger gently traced the black lace strap of her brassiere, showing plainly where her robe had slipped off her shoulder. "You're all dressed up like a lady. How come you behave this way?"  
  
Anita's chin trembled forcefully under the strain of her turbulent emotions. She turned away to try to hide her face from Brian, so he wouldn't see just how much her newly chosen career bothered her, but her hand was still clasped in his. He tugged her back towards him and pulled her directly into his arms.  
  
And then he began to _sing_ as he swayed them to an invisible beat.  
  
"Sail away sweet sister, sail across the sea..."  
  
Brian's voice was faint and hoarse; it crackled like a campfire. Though it was obvious he had not used his singing voice in over two years, the melody was clearly there.  
  
"Maybe you'll find somebody to love you half as much as me..."  
  
As they slowly spun around in the gentlest of dances, Anita leaned her forehead against the protruding sharpness of Brian's collarbone, shocked to her very core that he had finally conquered his curse.  
  
Somehow, she knew that he had done it especially for _her._  
  
"My heart is always with you, no matter what you do..."  
  
Brian tightened his hold on her, as if he really did expect her to leap from the window and run to the nearest sea.  
  
"Sail away sweet sister. I'll always be in love with you."  
  
They both jumped at a sudden bang that sounded from the next room over. It was followed by a pleased squeal that made Anita feel positively ill. Hardly able to believe that would eventually be her, Anita hid her face in Brian's shoulder and wept.  
  
At that moment, she didn't care that he was married. She didn't care that he had been dishonest. All that mattered was that she was being held, safe and sound, if only for a few moments.  
  
Brian's raspy singing voice was quickly replaced by the soothing timber of his regular speech.  
  
"Oh, _Anita._ Anita, don't you know you're young and you've got your whole life ahead of you."  
  
He pulled back slightly to gaze into Anita's shimmering blue eyes, to run the tips of his fingers through her tears. "Don't throw it away like this."  
  
"I don't have a choice, Brian!" Anita whispered in despair. "I need to earn a living somehow!"  
  
"But the theaters..."  
  
Anita's soft voice was laced with misery as she finally told Brian everything. How the theaters were still closed. How the other establishments she had inquired at weren't hiring. How she had been carrying around that infernal _Guide to Prostitution_ because she'd always feared - yet expected - it would come to this.  
  
At some point during her explanation, Brian's heart began to ache so dreadfully that he pulled her back into his embrace, rocking her back and forth as words and tears tumbled out of her, spilling onto his shoulder.  
  
"How long?" he murmured against her hair.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Tell me how long misfortune has been hunting you, Anita," Brian clarified softly. "How long have you been on the brink of ruin?"  
  
"Since last autumn."  
  
The moment of truth had arrived at last. Brian was an intelligent man; he knew there was a reason she hadn't told him any of this before, a reason he still wasn't privy to. He also knew it might take a bit of coaxing to extract that reason from her.  
  
Luckily, they had all night. 

Brian brushed away damp strands of hair from Anita's eyes; though he had torn her defenses down, he could still see faint flames of pride wavering in those beautiful eyes. Pulling back the coverlet of the rickety old bed (and trying to ignore the incessant creaking coming from the bed next door), he offered Anita his hand. She gratefully accepted it as she crawled onto the mattress.  
  
Once he had tucked her in, he dragged an armchair across the room and humbly sat himself in it. Though she was technically his for the entire evening (per the rules of this hideous brothel, he thought distastefully to himself), he fully intended to give her space.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me all this before you left the castle?" Brian asked her quietly.  
  
Anita stared at her freshly painted fingernails. "I was going to..."  
  
Brian leaned forward and planted his elbows on the bed. "But...?"  
  
Anita sighed. "But then I learned you were married."  
  
She said it so casually that Brian flinched, but he needn't have feared, because fiery emotion soon followed.  
  
"And the entire time you were having an affair with me, you never told me you were _married!"_ Anita exclaimed in a devastated whisper.  
  
Brian closed his eyes as the pieces of this bewildering puzzle finally came together. "You overheard Freddie and I talking that day on the terrace."  
  
"Yes!"  
  
Brian slowly rose from the armchair and settled himself on the bed, facing Anita as the mattress sunk slightly under his weight.  
  
"Anita, I _was_ married."  
  
Anita frowned. "But you told Freddie nothing had changed. You told him you were going to pick up where you left off when you returned home."  
  
Brian took Anita's hand and ran his thumb across her smooth knuckles. "Chrissie and I had a difficult relationship. That's what I was referencing when I told Freddie nothing had changed. And as for picking up where we left off..."  
  
Anita waited patiently for him to go on.  
  
"We'll be picking up where we left off with our _divorce_ proceedings," Brian finished, his eyes cloudy with the shadows of painful memories.  
  
Brian's revelation hit Anita with the force of a freight train. The misty look in his eyes reminded her of another time, recalling to memory the night all those years ago when he had rescued her from the foaming sea.   
  
It all made sense now. His red-rimmed eyes, his fiercely sad expression, the way his shoulders had hunched forward under the heavy weight of his depression. The fact that he had been visiting the sea at three in the morning in the first place.   
  
She had never known...  
  
Anita grasped his hand in both of hers as she dropped her head, guilt flooding every crevice of her soul. "Oh, Brian. I'm so sorry."  
  
"And I'd hardly call what you and I had an affair," Brian added. "Anita, you've made me happier than I've ever been. You made me forget all about her, about the divorce. And that's why I didn't tell you right away, though I know I should have."  
  
"I should have come to you before I left," Anita murmured to her knees, her words tinged with a heavy regret. "I should have confronted you before I ran away and..."  
  
Brian lifted her chin with a gentle finger. "And became a woman of the night?"  
  
The look Anita aimed at him was so mournful that Brian offered her the sweetest of smiles and gently pushed her back against the pillows.  
  
"It doesn't matter anymore," he said, "because we know the truth at last. Rest now. I'll watch over you."  
  
"Brian," Anita protested. "You need rest, too."  
  
Brian pulled the covers up to her chin and returned to the armchair. "I can do that from here. Sleep, Anita, and know I love you."  
  
Anita curled up on her side and watched as Brian leaned back comfortably in the chair, his face fading into the shadows cast by the flickering candlelight.  
  
"I love you, too," she whispered.  
  
Brian didn't object when, only moments later, Anita inched across the bed on her hands and knees and climbed onto his lap. Planting a soft kiss upon his lips, she curled up in his arms and fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.  
  
\---  
  
At dawn, LuLu Belle slowly turned the doorknob of room 39 and peeked inside. She had heard raised voices hours before and to say she was concerned about her new charge would have been an understatement.  
  
But the scene she was now witnessing within the room convinced her there had never been any cause for concern, for there, upon the armchair by the bed, was the young man with the kind eyes. And in his arms was Anita.  
  
It didn't escape LuLu's attention that they were both fully clothed and yet, the way they were holding each other, even in sleep, was one of the most intimate things she had ever seen.  
  
And as the proprietress of a brothel, that was certainly saying something.  
  
Smiling to herself, LuLu closed the door, knowing fully well that she'd be losing her newest prostitute to the love of a sweet man.  
  
 **Two Nights Later**  
  
Mad the Swine's home was nestled on a hillside in the City of the Fireflies. It was the safest possible place for John to recover his strength and for Ronnie to recover her wits because the city offered anonymity and the hillside offered seclusion.  
  
Mad the Swine was actually a lovely gentleman named Gwilym, well versed in the art of medicine and meditation. The fact that John was the Black Queen couldn't have mattered less to Gwilym and for that, Ronnie was thankful.  
  
He skillfully dressed John's wounds, bandaged his ribs, and stitched the laceration on his cheek closed. He watched over John tirelessly, monitoring him as he swam in and out of consciousness, holding his hand when nightmares of near death caused him to cry out in the night.  
  
Gwilym was also a great comfort to Ronnie. Most of the time, she was able to remain calm and dab John's brow with a cool cloth and whisper encouragement into his ear but at other times, she teetered on the brink of hysteria at John's bedside, overcome with the fear of losing him and how so very close she had come to doing just that. During those times, Gwilym would lead her in focused meditation, urging her to calm her body and her mind. For her own sake, and for the sake of John and his child within her.  
  
And thus, two days passed them by, though it felt more like forever. It was clear that John needed a bit more time to recover, thus Gwilym dispatched a friend to meet Freddie at their designated spot in the woods and let him know their journey was not yet complete.   
  
Ronnie nearly drowned in her own relief the day that John kept his white eyes open for more than a few moments. But as she held his hand and gazed down at him, she was overcome with shyness, remembering that the last time they had spoken, their words had been rife with emotional turmoil.  
  
After a couple of very quiet hours, Ronnie left John with Gwilym and snuck out into the night to get a bit of fresh air. Sitting upon the porch steps, she marveled at the sprawling view of the city below, and the thousands upon thousands of fireflies that glowed in the darkness of the surrounding mountains.  
  
The groan of the floorboards warned her that she was no longer alone. Turning, she saw John leaning against the railing, a supportive arm cradling his ribs as he stared at the flickering lights that surrounded them.  
  
Ronnie found she was emotionally exhausted after two days of constant worry, after forty-eight hours of trying to stem her ever flowing tears; thus, she didn't know what to say. Eventually, she decided upon the most obvious statement.  
  
"I'm glad you're alive."   
  
John glanced down at her, a small smile curving his cheeks as he nodded his agreement.  
  
Silence. Crickets chirped in the distance.  
  
Knowing she needed to make things right, Ronnie folded her hands nervously in her lap. "John, could I..." She inhaled slowly before she set her breath free. "Could I talk to you?"  
  
John studied her carefully, before he straightened up and walked back into the house. As the screen door slammed behind him, Ronnie almost feared he didn't wish to speak to her, but those fears were unfounded. He returned moments later with quill and parchment, slowly lowering himself onto the steps beside her.  
  
And then he waited patiently for her to begin.  
  
A wayward firefly danced through the air, landing on Ronnie's knee, giving her a glimpse of hope. Leaning forward and resting her elbows on her thighs, she admired the small bug, feeling the heat of John's eyes upon her.  
  
"John, I'm sorry for everything," she whispered.  
  
Though she was sure it caused him great physical pain to do so, John moved closer to her, pressing his hip against hers. That simple touch was all it took; Ronnie's confession erupted from her like molten lava from a volcano; her words rained down on him like a torrential downpour.  
  
She told him how truly, deeply, desperately sorry she was for _everything_ she had put him through. She apologized for placing him in such imminent danger, for consistently trying to push him away, for attempting to crush his love. She explained her fear of love, her fear of intimacy, her fear of being hurt again. She told him that all of the unexpected hurdles they had faced - her pregnancy, John's transformation via the alcohol curse, their forced marriage, the revelation that they were forever connected as soulmates - had only exacerbated her fear.  
  
She revealed that sometimes she felt that, rather than face her fears, it would be easier to not love at all.   
  
Ronnie then confessed that even after she threw Valentino's ring into the river, his betrayal continued to haunt her. She admitted that she was still so entangled in the past that she didn't know how to start anew. And she acknowledged that Valentino had destroyed her sense of self worth when he had convinced her that she - a chaste, inexperienced village schoolteacher - had nothing to offer any man except her body.  
  
"I'm just afraid that I won't be enough for you," Ronnie finished quietly. "Just like I wasn't enough for him."  
  
The firefly suddenly took flight. It was as if it were carrying Ronnie's fears away with it; her chest felt noticeably lighter.  
  
Meanwhile, the sound of John's quill scribbling furiously across the parchment almost drowned out the musical creaking of the crickets.  
  
 _You're already more than I could have ever hoped for_  
  
Ronnie finally turned to face him, her guilt melting into awe. While before, his unyielding love for her had only distressed her, now it simply amazed her.  
  
Reaching out to him, she ran her thumb gently across the jagged laceration, held together with a dozen tiny stitches, of John's cheek, remembering the terrible night of his capture.  
  
Turning her hand, she allowed her knuckles to trail gently down the side of his face. "I carried that fear of love for so long, never realizing that what I feared most of all was losing you."  
  
John's eyes never left hers as his fingers slowly guided the quill across the parchment balanced on his knee.  
  
 _I know the feeling_  
  
Ronnie stared at his words, before she looked up at him curiously. But he was now gazing out into the night, his dark eyebrows furrowed, as if he were trying to make a very important decision.  
  
Turning to her, John held his hands out.  
  
Ronnie didn't hesitate this time. She pressed her palms against his and waited, knowing he intended to transport her back in time.  
  
As John leaned forward, Ronnie closed her eyes and waited for the soft touch of his forehead against hers.  
  
When it didn't come, her eyes fluttered open to find John had leaned his back against the porch's wooden railing instead, his expression pained. Biting his lip uncertainly, he released her hands, braced himself against the railing, and held out his arms to her.  
  
That was how Ronnie knew that the moment he wanted to show her was going to be emotionally difficult. Holding her hands wouldn't be enough.  
  
He needed her to be closer to him.  
  
\---  
  
John's arms shook as he held them suspended in mid air, waiting for Ronnie to come to him.   
  
It really wasn't ideal to prolong the moment in this way; he wasn't particularly enthused about revisiting one of the most difficult periods of his entire life, yet he needed her to come willingly, to show him she was ready to experience his pain.  
  
The lump in his throat constricted painfully, making his ears burn, as Ronnie crawled carefully into his lap, mindful of his many injuries, and looped her arms around his neck, indicating that she was ready to go through the worst with him again.  
  
Taking a shuddering breath, John placed his forehead against hers and in a whirl of color, they were outside Ronnie's bedroom, standing in last October.  
  
Or rather, _John_ was standing outside her bedroom, for Ronnie was within him, looking at the world from his eyes, touching their surroundings with his hands, feeling emotions with his heart.  
  
She probably never realized it, but whenever he brought her back through time like this, he was always right there with her. He would never send her to the past by herself, he would never send her into the untamed jungle of his emotions alone.  
  
No, he was there with her now, reliving everything through his former self, as he stared at the limp body on the bed...Ronnie's body. He watched as Sarina sobbed in Roger's arms and uttered those four terrible words that had rocked his entire world.  
  
 _She likely won't recover._  
  
And once again, John's trembling fingers were clinging to the doorframe. Once again, he was darting up the stairs, tearing his room apart as he searched for a shovel. All over again, he was seized with a desperate determination as he fled into the night, putting his feud with Roger aside as they dug their shovels into the soft dirt of the forest floor until they found the old spellbook that had been buried deep underground.  
  
John brought Ronnie back to that moment in her bedroom when, surrounded by candlelight and the howling of the autumn wind, he had flipped restlessly through the pages of that same spellbook. He showed her the discovery of the Illness Cure Spell, and Brian's demonstration (on Freddie) of how similar that spell was to the Pregnancy Spell. He showed her how he had manipulated the candle flame to prove he could do it, that he had been practicing for her.  
  
He also allowed Ronnie to feel the overwhelming conflict within him as he wrestled with the impossible task before him. He forced her to see that letting her die had never been an option, that he had been determined to try and save her, even if he was chancing an unwanted pregnancy.   
  
She would now realize that he had known all along he was gambling with her trust, that he was risking her hatred of him. That he had been fully aware at the time that if this all went wrong, she would never break his curse.   
  
And yet, he had selflessly accepted that. It was a risk he was willing to take because she mattered more to him than life itself.  
  
John wished he could have brought Ronnie back to the present right then and there, that he could have ended the memory before they had to relive her near death experience. But she had to _feel_ the extent of his love for her. She had to know that losing her had been his worst fear, too.  
  
And so, just like an unsettling sense of deja vu, John found himself cradling Ronnie's unconscious body in his arms all over again. He was aware of his former self pressing his hand against her bare abdomen, locking his emotions away, summoning his magic, and silently mouthing the spell.

 _Oh, oh children of the land_  
 _Quicken to the new life_  
  
Then came the exhilarating sense of release, the pulsating blue light, the magic that burned his fingertips as he successfully infiltrated Ronnie's core.  
  
 _Take my hand_

Just like before, Ronnie unexpectedly grabbed his hand. He hoped that the Ronnie who was now trapped within his body could feel the wild hope battering his chest, that she was now understanding how that one sign of life had freed all of his repressed emotions, causing him to lose his grip on the Illness Cure Spell and topple into an entirely different spell.  
  
The Pregnancy Spell.   
  
John showed Ronnie how he had reigned in those emotions immediately, that he had attempted to make things right, hoping against all hope that his magic hadn't found her womb.

 _Fly and find the new green bough_  
 _Return like the white dove_  
  
And how his emotions had raged out of control the moment her body began to convulse.  
  
\---  
  
Safely within John, Ronnie stared down in horror at her own body as it spasmed violently. Her soft curls tickled her skin as John ran his fingers through her hair, she felt the very faint, almost nonexistent, beat of her own heart in John's palm as he pressed his hand against her chest. Her fingers were like ice as John squeezed her hands.  
  
John's internal voice echoed in her ears as he began to recite, like a broken record, the spell that should have saved her, his voice rising in desperation.  
  
 _...return like the white dove, return like the white dove, return like the white dove..._  
  
And then, Ronnie's heart was seized by a ferocious pain, as if it were quite literally being torn in two. She felt an overwhelming impulse to open her mouth and scream, to claw at her chest, but she couldn't do either of those things. She could only react as John had on that stormy October night, and he reacted by crushing her against his chest and burying his face in her hair.  
  
Ronnie was well aware that the unbearable sensation in her chest was the feeling of John's own heart being engulfed in flames as he realized she was actively dying and there was nothing he could do to save her. She felt his blood thundering in her ears as alarm swept through his veins, the cry that was hovering on the tip of his tongue but could never be released thanks to Trident's curse. She swallowed against the thick, uncomfortable lump of tears that blocked his throat, making it difficult for him to breathe; she writhed against the stabbing pain, like that of a thousand knives, piercing his soul as he begged her to stay.  
  
 _Please don't go. Don't leave me here by myself._  
  
And above all else, Ronnie witnessed the slow, agonizing darkness that approached as John's inner light was slowly snuffed out, her impending death taking away his own will to live.  
  
Ronnie watched through John's eyes as the almost lifeless body in his arms suddenly began to move, eventually throwing two arms around his neck and pressing a cold cheek against the warmth of his own. John's excruciating, inner turmoil slowly began to evaporate as the scene in the bedroom began to fade to black. The last thing Ronnie heard was her own voice thanking him for saving her life.  
  
Opening her eyes, Ronnie was beyond relieved to find herself back in John's lap on Gwilym's porch, surrounded by the tiny yellow fireflies. Before John could pull away, she wrapped her arms tighter around his neck, holding him close. She wasn't ready to let go; she was still being tossed upon the waves of John's flammable emotions. She almost feared she'd never reach the safety of the shore.  
  
Biting down hard on her lip, Ronnie sobbed as quietly as she could, not wanting to further distress John, knowing it couldn't have been easy for him to go through all that again.   
  
But she knew John sensed her anguish by the way he protectively held her against his chest, even though it hurt his ribs. She knew he could feel her tears seeping through the thin fabric of his shirt by the way he planted a soft, lingering kiss on the top of her head. And if she had looked up, she would have seen John eventually lean his head against the railing, thoroughly exhausted, as he stared up into the night sky, his own face streaked with red.  
  
\---  
  
It took quite a bit of coaxing but eventually, Gwilym was able to convince them to come inside so that John could rest. Even so, once John was comfortably propped against the pillows and Gwilym had retired for the night, Ronnie refused to leave him.  
  
She climbed into John's bed and curled up beside him as she listened to his steady breathing. As she waited for sleep to claim her, she thought about John's note to her, the one that had asked if he could be the one to bring her to the Virgin Forest.  
  
 _There's something I need to show you,_ he had said.  
  
Although Ronnie wasn't even certain that he was awake, she still found herself whispering into the darkness.  
  
"What happened the night you saved me...is that what you wanted to show me?"  
  
She felt John shake his head no as he tucked something into her hand.  
  
Frowning, Ronnie unfolded the small piece of parchment to find two simple sentences written in John's neat script.   
  
_You saved me, too. Thank you._  
  
The words were smudged with red; Ronnie guessed he must have written it out on the porch when they had clung to each other after their emotional visit to the past.  
  
And she realized then that while she had been preoccupied with thoughts of the night he had saved her from the Great Sickness, John had only been thinking of how _she_ had saved _him_ from the Hitman's sword.  
  
\---  
  
In the heart of the wood, Freddie sighed and flicked a bur off his shoulder with a look of extreme distaste.  
  
Turning to Lily, he sighed. "They're late, darling."  
  
Lily's lips unfolded in a gentle neigh that stirred Freddie's hair pleasantly.   
  
"Quite right! There's no excuse for this tardiness! I'll accept nothing less than complete and total elopement! Why, I'll..."  
  
Feeling a fit of restless pacing coming on, Freddie turned and came face to face with a pair of beautiful dark eyes, ensconced in a face that was so familiar it made Freddie's heart skip a beat.  
  
"Jim?" he whispered.  
  
The man, clad in black with a carefully trimmed mustache, grinned. "Please, continue as you were. Don't let my presence stop your righteous fit of irritation."  
  
Though Jim's lovely, lilting accent shot a bolt of desire through Freddie's belly, he stubbornly folded his arms and turned away. "Insufferable, as usual, my dear! And what brings you here?"  
  
"I've been sent as a messenger from Mad the Swine," Jim replied as he came closer. "To tell you your friends are going to need a bit more time to complete their journey."  
  
Freddie snorted. "I'll accept nothing less than complete and total elopement."  
  
"So you said," Jim murmured, putting a hand on Freddie's shoulder and massaging it gently. "I've missed you, Freddie."  
  
Freddie finally allowed his proud façade to fall away as he turned to face Jim, showing him something he hardly ever let anyone else see: dark eyes like melted chocolate, rich with raw emotion. "Not as much as I've missed you, darling."  
  
And there, in the middle of the deep, dark, forest, Freddie launched himself into his former lover's arms, promising himself that this time, he'd never let go.  
  
\---  
  
It didn't take much to convince Jim to return to Lambert Castle with Freddie. After all, he was a free agent with a lot of spare time.  
  
And besides, he wanted to surprise an old friend.  
  
The sun was sinking behind the trees as Jim and Freddie emerged from the eastern woods, with Jim's faithful black tiger, Oscar, loping around their ankles. In the distance, they saw Adam, Sarina, and Roger seated in the grass, eagerly awaiting the sunset.  
  
Delilah had been prowling in a circle around them, searching for slithering insects, but when she sensed movement in the direction of the eastern woods, her ears pricked up. Turning, she watched with glowing eyes as Jim, Freddie, and Oscar approached.  
  
And then with a purr rumbling deep in her throat, she sprang forward.  
  
Oscar met her halfway; they both leapt into the air, their lithe bodies clashing before they fell to the ground, rolling over one another in a burst of feral affection.  
  
Adam scrambled to his feet, his eyes wide with shock.  
  
Freddie's eyes gleamed mischievously as he pushed Jim forward, before turning to the tigers and whispering sweet nothings to his newly reunited babies.  
  
As bright streaks of orange burst through the sky (a startling color palate that perfectly matched Oscar's eyes), Jim stopped a respectful distance away from the castle inhabitants.  
  
"Hullo Adam," he said softly.  
  
Adam's bewildered expression was replaced by a look of joyful wonder as he hurried forward and threw his arms around the newcomer.  
  
"Jim!" he exclaimed with a laugh. "What took you so long!"  
  
Jim grinned and clapped him on the back. "Gallivanting around Nevermore takes time, my friend!"  
  
Roger and Sarina exchanged a curious glance, but they weren't left in the dark for long. Adam turned with a triumphant smile to introduce the stranger.  
  
"Rog, Sarina - I'd like you to meet Jim, Trident's adopted son. But more importantly, my best friend."  
  
 **A Week Later  
  
** It wasn't easy leaving the comfort and kindness of Mad the Swine's home.   
  
Gwilym fondly tucked a stray black curl behind Ronnie's ear before he enveloped her in a friendly embrace, whispering to her that if her heart should ever lose it's way, she knew where to find him.  
  
Leaving John and Gwilym to discuss the best route to take to the Virgin Forest, Ronnie drifted down the road to a nearby bridge and hoisted herself onto the lowest rung of the bridge's barricade. Lily pads lined the river below; in the distance, she could hear frogs croaking their resounding song of love.  
  
Her face, reflected back at her in the water, was astonishingly calm. There was no doubt in her mind that she wasn't the same frightened girl, dripping with John's blood, who had run into Gwilym's home the week before. No, she had already begun the deep internal process of changing for the better.  
  
A face appeared beside hers in the water. The rippling river calmed enough to show her the pale complexion and stark white eyes of John.  
  
As she admired his reflection, he turned and placed a soft, shy kiss upon her cheek, forcing her to look upon herself being loved. Reminding her, oh so gently, that there was nothing she could do to change it.  
  
Before, she would have distanced herself. But now, she stayed perfectly still and smiled.  
  
They lifted their hands in farewell to Mad the Swine and hand in hand, began their journey anew.  
  
\---  
  
Late that afternoon, that journey reached it's fulfillment.   
  
John wasn't surprised in the least that the trees of the Virgin Forest were as white and pure as the most fabled virgins. Ethereal light from the dying sun streamed through leaves that were a glittering silver; the dirt beneath their feet was like dry, crumbling snow.  
  
Roger would have been kicked out in a heartbeat, John thought to himself wryly.  
  
At the entrance to the forest, Ronnie looked over her shoulder, offering John a nervous smile. "I shouldn't be long."  
  
It was clearly her way of saying she knew she had to go alone, as only virgins could enter the forest. She obviously thought that he, like Roger, would be denied access. And while that was extremely flattering, it was time that John showed her that wasn't the case.  
  
It was time he exposed the truth that would set her free. According to Freddie, at least.  
  
Shoving his trembling hands into his pockets, John kept his eyes on the ground as he came forward, walking past Ronnie and plunging into the Virgin Forest. His cheeks burned red as he turned, surrounded by trees of white, and waited for Ronnie to follow.  
  
When she appeared, her pupils were dilated with shock but her expression was soft with compassion. Squirming under the weight of what he had just silently confessed to her, John turned and pretended to be especially fascinated by a pure, white, virgin slug on a nearby tree branch.   
  
Ronnie's cool fingers on his cheeks forced him to look down into her sparkling, dark eyes.   
  
"That's what you wanted to show me, isn't it?" she whispered.  
  
John nodded, fighting the urge to look away again. But when he saw the gratitude in Ronnie's smile, he knew his embarrassment had been worth it, just to see the realization in her eyes that she wasn't alone.   
  
That if they so chose, they could weather the messy business of intimacy together.  
  
Ronnie's face was still bright with wonder as she shyly hooked her arm through his and led him further into the forest.  
  
There were virgin flowers aplenty, scattered around the trees in thick clusters of lustrous white. They were extremely delicate, but exactly identical; even so, Ronnie knelt among them and searched for the perfect one to pick. When she found it, it came free from the ground with a soft _zing.  
_  
A few feet away John leaned against a tree, twirling his own virgin flower between his long fingers.  
  
"John?"   
  
He looked up at the sound of Ronnie's soft voice, his eyes questioning.  
  
"Thank you," she whispered.   
  
John got the feeling that she was thanking him for so much more than revealing his intimate secret to her. In response, he allowed his face to light up with a smile that was even more pure than the Virgin Forest itself.  
  
Pointed teeth and all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If all goes according to plan, only two chapters left. <3


	27. Chapter 27

**That Night  
**  
Once Ronnie and John had emerged from the Virgin Forest, completely unscathed, they immediately wrapped their virgin flowers carefully in wax paper. After that, the only thing left to be done was journey back to Lambert Castle.  
  
Night fell more quickly than they would have liked. The darkness always brought with it the promise of danger.  
  
Ronnie heard the night wanderers before she saw them. As she froze on the small, narrow bridge, listening to shouts of laughter ringing through the air and echoing off the surrounding water, John gently tugged on her hand, indicating they should find shelter.  
  
But of course, there was _nowhere_ to hide. There was only the deep, dark waves below.  
  
As Ronnie turned to John, her gaze drank in the angry black ring around his eye, the red gash buried in his lower lip, and the stitched laceration digging into his cheek. Her heart contracted painfully with fear as she remembered what had happened the _last_ time they had come across humans in the woods.  
  
Silently vowing that she'd never let anything like that happen to John again, Ronnie threw her arms around him and pulled him close.  
  
\---  
  
The force of Ronnie's embrace caused John to momentarily lose his balance, but he regained it quickly enough. As Ronnie pressed her forehead against his, and entwined her fingers into his hair, John wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly against his chest.  
  
He wasn't stupid, though. He didn't for a moment believe that Ronnie was trying to seduce him on this rickety old bridge. He knew perfectly well that this close proximity was meant to protect him, to hide his face under the guise of a romantic kiss.  
  
Except there was no kiss. There was just dreadful anticipation as they held their breath (as well as each other) and waited.  
  
Footsteps echoed off the cobblestones as the night wanderers came nearer. The bridge was such a confined space that John could smell the scent of campfire on their clothes; he could hear every word of their meaningless conversation...  
  
Ronnie's arms tightened around him as she pressed her body more firmly against his. John's heart skipped a beat as her round, pregnant belly fit itself perfectly into the curve of his hollow stomach. And though now was neither the time nor the place, he found himself staring longingly into her eyes as his nose grazed hers and his lips hovered mere centimeters from her own. He feverishly hoped that she'd close the distance, that she'd turn this charade into a real kiss.  
  
He had already promised himself he wouldn't be the first to initiate a kiss again, not unless she proved to him she was ready. And now was such a perfect opportunity, if only she would meet him halfway, if only she would give him a sign...  
  
The night wanderers lowered their voices to a hush as they beheld the two lovers entwined in each other's arms on the bridge. Not wishing to intrude on this rather intimate moment, they giggled nervously as they hurried past.  
  
As they disappeared into the trees, their quickly departing bodies stirred a cool breeze that engulfed John and Ronnie, ultimately breaking the spell. John felt Ronnie deflate with relief as she untangled her fingers from his hair, extracted herself from his arms, and offered him a reassuring smile.  
  
John returned the smile, but just barely.   
  
_She's still holding back,_ he thought sadly to himself as his now empty arms hung heavily at his sides. _She's still afraid to love me._  
  
Though he swiftly tried to hide his crestfallen expression, he could tell Ronnie had seen it by the concern in her eyes and the way her own smile faltered.   
  
Wishing to both physically and emotionally move on from this moment, John took Ronnie's hand firmly in his and looked over his shoulder one last time before he led her safely across the bridge.  
  
Away from the night wanderers. Away from the cold, dark water. Away from his crippling disappointment.  
  
 **The Following Night**  
  
It was the same mountainside, the same yellow moon, the same unsettling dream. The only difference was that this time, the pumpkins were black and green with rot.  
  
Ronnie carefully unwrapped her legs from the Black Queen's waist and crawled away from him. Yanking down her skirt and turning away, she buried her elbows in the dirt and wept for the loss of her innocence, for the capture of her heart, for what she had so willingly given away.  
  
Her tears slithered down cheeks that were red with shame and dripped onto the rotting pumpkin below her. As those same tears soaked the pumpkin's orange-green husk, something extraordinary happened.  
  
The Black Queen knelt before her and gently lifted her chin with the crook of his finger. When he was certain he had her attention, he sunk his long, beautiful fingers into his chest and gently ripped his heart from his own body. Ronnie watched with wide eyes as he held his pulsating heart in the palm of his hand, dark blood running in rivulets between his fingers.   
  
Very slowly, the Black Queen held his heart out to her, his empty white eyes staring into hers with a desperate intensity. His sharp fangs sunk into his lower lip and his fingers trembled as he wrestled with his own uncertainty.  
  
Yet still, he bravely offered her his heart.  
  
Ronnie felt her own heart swell with compassion. Because maybe, just maybe, she had misunderstood the Black Queen's intentions. Maybe, just maybe, they had just performed an act of love. Not a frightening display of possession, like she had initially thought.  
  
Reaching out with both hands, Ronnie accepted the Black Queen's heart. It throbbed against her fingers as she inspected it carefully.  
  
It wasn't black, like the legends had led her to believe. It was a deep red, smooth with overlapping veins and grooved with interspersed arteries. It was covered in cuts, some shallow and some much deeper. It was peppered with scratches and abrasions. It contained a large bruise; there was even a tattered bandaid covering an old, barely healed wound.  
  
This was a heart that had been beaten and battered and yet...  
  
...and yet the Black Queen was giving it to her anyway, knowing perfectly well that she could crush that heart into dust. Knowing how easily she could rip it in half. Knowing that if she chose to, she could injure it beyond repair.  
  
And that, she supposed, was the sacrifice one made for true love.  
  
The Black Queen's soft voice surrounded her, drying her tears and warming her soul as he pledged himself to her.  
  
 _My life is in your hands_  
 _I'll fo and I'll fie_  
 _I'll be what you make me_  
 _I'll do what you like_  
  
Never taking her eyes from his, Ronnie cradled his heart against her own, showing him that she'd guard it, protect it, honor it. And in response, the Black Queen swept her into his arms and held her closely, pressing the softest of kisses against her neck.  
  
His red tears rained down upon the pumpkin below, the very one that had received Ronnie's tears just moments before.   
  
And bathed in tears of love, the pumpkin shed it's rot and bloomed perfectly round and beautifully orange once more.  
  
\---  
  
Ronnie's eyes shot open as she bolted upright and fearfully inspected her hands, which were empty and perfectly clean. There was no vibrating heart, no blood stains...  
  
 _Of course there wasn't!_ she scolded herself. _It was just a dream!_  
  
But it's message of love had been real. Dream Ronnie had finally accepted her feelings and taken that crucial first step towards loving the Black Queen.  
  
So why couldn't Ronnie do the same with John?  
  
"Why are you still so afraid?" she whispered to herself as she stared down at John, who was sleeping soundly beside her.  
  
Ronnie knew she had been given the perfect opportunity the night before to show John that he was loved. Wrapped in his arms on the bridge, his face had been so close to hers and it would have been so easy to just close her eyes and lean a little closer...  
  
But she hadn't taken that chance. Her own inhibitions had gotten in the way _again._  
  
And even though John had taken her by the hand and tried to shield her from his hurt expression, she had still seen it. Every since then, she'd been trying to remedy that moment, searching for the right opportunity to kiss him, but fear was still meddling with her heart.  
  
 _Fear..._ Ronnie frowned as a fragment of a memory drifted to the surface of her mind and she recalled Freddie tucking a white scroll into the side pocket of her traveling pack before he left her and John in the woods. What was it he had said?  
  
 _If you find fear overtaking you, I urge you to read this._  
  
Ronnie crawled out from beneath John's cloak and retrieved the tiny scroll. She had forgotten all about it in the midst of her argument with John, his near execution, and the tense week of recovery at Gwilym's...  
  
Climbing unsteadily to her feet, for her pregnant belly had thrown off any sense of balance she once possessed, Ronnie enfolded the scroll in her fist and glanced over her shoulder at John. When she saw he was still sleeping, she retreated down the hill, to a small river that glistened in the moonlight, and sat herself on the riverbank.  
  
She untied the black ribbon, opened the scroll, and beheld Freddie's familiar handwriting.  
  
 _Darling,_  
  
 _If you're reading this now, I'm assuming fear has overtaken you. As you drink in these words, I'm sure you are beside yourself with doubt.  
_  
Ronnie sighed. That much was certainly true.  
  
 _And no wonder! My dear, this is a very important chapter of your life. Finding your soulmate...bravo, darling! Some people spend forever trying to achieve that one amazing feat.  
_  
 _I know you're afraid. I also know how much you care about our dear Deaky. I've seen it in your mind. Believe me, darling, if you didn't have any feelings for him, I wouldn't be meddling. But as it's clear you do, let me offer you a bit of advice, if I may...  
_  
 _You and I both know you're already on the edge of a deeper kind of love. Let yourself tip over that edge.  
_  
 _I'm not going to lie to you, darling. Intimacy can break your heart, but it's the most heavenly feeling if shared with the right person. Love can be the most healing force in the world, my dear, if you let it. All you need to do is take that first step and the rest is easy.  
_  
 _Let intimacy break your heart in the best possible way. Let yourself fall. I can guarantee that Deaky will be there to catch you.  
_  
 _With your best intentions always at heart,_  
 _Freddie  
_  
 _P.S. This message has been approved by the Black Queen himself, one John Richard Deacon.  
_  
Putting the scroll aside, Ronnie turned her face up to the night sky, taking solace from the light of the bright white moon as Freddie's words sank into her conscience, his voice a sword against her fear.  
  
A breeze traveled across the river and blew her black curls into her face. Pushing them from her eyes, she wrapped one wayward curl around her forefinger, wistfully wishing she hadn't gone to such drastic measures to push John away. How she missed the old strawberry tinge that had once naturally lightened her hair...  
  
Ronnie didn't realize she wasn't alone until she felt a comforting, yet unexpected, presence looming over her. Looking up, she saw John staring down at her, his eyes glowing brightly in the dark and his brow furrowed in concern. His expression was clearly asking her what his voice couldn't.  
  
Why wasn't she asleep? What was she doing sitting by the river in the middle of the night?  
  
Having no wish to explain her dream, or discuss the letter from Freddie that John clearly already knew all about, Ronnie tugged on her black curl and whispered, "I wish I hadn't done this."  
  
John's eyes softened with understanding as he sunk to his knees beside her and reached out his hand. His fingers hovered inches from her face as he raised his eyebrows, asking for her permission...  
  
Ronnie didn't know what he planned to do, but even so, she found herself nodding her assent.  
  
Very gently, John circled an arm around her, lowering her to the river bank and laying her on her back, his supportive hand suspending her head over the water. Lowering himself to his stomach, he dipped her hair into the river.  
  
Slowly, John plunged his opposite hand into the cold water and began to run his fingers through her hair. Though Ronnie couldn't see it, she knew his fingertips were burning blue as he used his magic to strain the black dye from her reddish-blonde curls. She closed her eyes and imagined the black dye melting into the rippling water and swirling in the current before it vanished, as if it had never been.  
  
John's skillful fingers in her hair, and the feeling of being cradled in the crook of his arm, was so comforting that Ronnie felt sleep coming for her at last. But that was before she became aware of one particular sensation that pushed sleep to the very back of her mind.  
  
The unmistakable beating of John's heart against her own.  
  
As John continued the tedious task of removing the dye from Ronnie's hair, he had lowered himself inch by inch, until his chest was pressed very gently against hers. As his heart throbbed in time with hers, Ronnie was reminded of her dream and how the Black Queen had offered her his tattered heart. She found herself wondering if John's heart was just as battered as the Black Queen's.   
  
Somehow, she knew it was. After all, John had sustained his fair share of grief. The loss of his father at a young age, the cruel revenge of a god and a curse that earned him the hatred of the entire land, her own heated words and repeated rejections...  
  
Swallowing nervously, Ronnie opened her eyes and cupped John's face in her hands. She ran her thumbs along the curves of his cheeks, traced his dark, arched eyebrows, caressed the black bruises around his right eye.  
  
John, suddenly aware of her touch, let his fingers fall from her hair as his questioning eyes searched hers.  
  
And finally throwing caution to the wind, Ronnie pressed her lips against his.  
  
It was experimental, at first. The first two kisses they had shared, at the Christmas Trustivity and more recently at the forest masquerade, had been John's own; he had guided her, he had set the pace. But now, having been the one to initiate the kiss, Ronnie had the freedom to linger, to explore, to becoming accustomed to the feeling of his lips on hers. And John patiently let her roam, gently returning her kiss but allowing her to take the lead.  
  
It was incredibly sweet, but uncertainty bubbled up within Ronnie's belly as she was faced with her blatant inexperience. Overcome with shyness, she slowly broke the kiss, and dared to look into John's luminous gaze.  
  
"Show me?" she pleaded softly. "Please?"  
  
John's wet fingers brushed her cheek as he hesitated, hardly believing this moment had come. As he guided her to a sitting position, she shivered as she felt the weight of her cold, wet hair hanging down her back and dampening her shirt.  
  
Leaning forward, John's thumb traced Ronnie's jawline as he kissed her. It was a tentative kiss at first, gentle at best, but when he felt Ronnie respond, he deepened the kiss, using his lips to part hers, giving her a taste of the fire in his soul.  
  
And when they finally parted, John pulled her close and held her for a very long time.  
  
They eventually crept back up the hill an hour before dawn and curled up beside the smoldering fire. The magic of Freddie's words wrapped Ronnie in it's comforting embrace as faint streaks of pink and orange sunlight began to reach for the horizon. She dared to believe she could love without restraint as the kiss she and John had just shared created a glow deep within her heart.  
  
That glow remained radiant within Ronnie as she and John journeyed onward, her hand in his as they traversed many more miles together. It was still there on the evening Freddie flew them back to Lambert Castle upon Lily; it endured as they reunited with all their friends that night.  
  
Perched halfway up the grand staircase, Freddie held a champagne glass in the air and in typical Freddie fashion, toasted the power of everlasting love.  
  
In response, Adam held his own glass in the air and grinned as he witnessed the everlasting love that was indeed permeating the room. It was evident in the way Anita rested her head on Brian's shoulder, her forefinger gently stroking Brighton, who was nestled in Brian's shirt pocket; it was plain in the way Sarina playfully nudged her shoulder against Roger's. It was obvious in the way John laced his fingers through Ronnie's, in the way Delilah was nuzzling Oscar in the corner...  
  
Ronnie frowned. _Oscar?_  
  
Where had the big black tiger come from? She hadn't seen him since last fall, when he had chased her into a tree, and his kindly owner had offered her his apologies and his assistance.  
  
If Oscar was here in the castle, surely that meant...  
  
Turning, Ronnie saw Hutton, handsome as ever as he nodded politely to her.  
  
"Hullo Ronnie," he said, his eyes sparkling as he extended his pinky to her.  
  
Ronnie smiled, remembering the way they had first timidly greeted each other, when the Great Sickness had ravished the land and handshakes had been out of the question.  
  
And knowing she owed Hutton so very much, for it had been _his_ tiger that had chased her off her path and into John's life, she ignored his pinky and gratefully threw her arms around him.  
  
Grinning, Hutton caught her, his dark mustache lifting above the force of his smile.  
  
 **April 18  
**  
Trident didn't bother to knock that night. No, he preferred to appear out of thin air at dinner, scaring everyone half to death.  
  
His deep voice rumbled through the dining room, precariously shaking the delicate crystal goblets and the fragile, hand-painted china. "Happy Three Month Wedding Anniversary!"  
  
"Oh, you remembered!" Freddie said scathingly. "How very benevolent of you..."  
  
Trident ignored him in order to wiggle his fingers distastefully at the table. "You've burnt the roast, you know."  
  
"Dad!" Jim exclaimed.  
  
Roger, deeply insulted, flared his nostrils at the god. "I'll have you know I like it burnt!"  
  
But Trident wasn't paying any mind to Roger. His surprised gaze had drifted past him, to rest on Jim's stern face, before he swiftly conquered his shock, hiding it with narrowed gleaming eyes. "You know these foolish mortals, son?"  
  
Jim cleared his throat loudly.  
  
Trident tried a different approach. "You're well acquainted with these fragile humans?"  
  
Jim sighed. At least his father had made an effort to be slightly less insulting than usual. "You mean my _friends?_ Yes, we know each other rather well, I'd say."  
  
He held his father's gaze, his chin lifted defiantly, daring him to spout more negativity.  
  
But Trident merely grunted with interest, before waving his hand and muttering, "Very well, very well."  
  
Turning to Ronnie, he announced grandly, "I've come for your decision regarding the potential annulment of your marriage. If you'll be so kind as to escort me to a private room..."  
  
John rose from his chair, radiating waves of fierce protectiveness as his hand fumbled for Ronnie's.  
  
Trident sighed, visibly annoyed. _"Alone._ I can't have you influencing her decision, can I? It must he hers, and hers alone."  
  
"He's quite the protector of women's rights, isn't he?" Brian muttered sarcastically to Anita.  
  
Ronnie offered John a reassuring smile before she untangled her fingers from his and, adorning her bravest expression, led the way out of the dining room.  
  
Before following, Trident mustered a smile that was meant to be kind, but in reality, was rather frightening. "Enjoy the remainder of your dinner, mortals."   
  
Adam, clearly unaccustomed to this cordial side of the vengeful god, leaned back in his chair with a bewildered expression.  
  
Jim, recognizing that Trident was attempting friendliness for the sake of his only son, softened his expression. "Give Mum a kiss for me."  
  
Trident's eyes shone with pride before he nodded and disappeared.  
  
The tension at the dinner table dissolved as Jim apologized profusely for his father's behavior. Quiet conversation mingled with soft candlelight as the castle dwellers occasionally glanced at the doorway, anxiously awaiting Ronnie's return.  
  
John dropped his head and stared at his untouched food; the audacious way in which Trident had suggested that he would influence Ronnie's decision had struck a painful chord deep within him. As if John wasn't allowed in the room because he would _pressure_ Ronnie into remaining as his wife, as if John would _frighten_ Ronnie into an everlasting marriage.  
  
As if Ronnie would never choose a lifetime with him of her own free will.   
  
Sarina's sympathetic voice pulled him back from the brink of his own doubts. "Did you ever discuss this with her, John? Do you know what her decision is?"  
  
John shook his head. The last time the annulment had been mentioned was that terrible night in the forest, right before he had been captured, when Ronnie had told him things would be easier for them once the annulment was finalized.   
  
Since then, Ronnie had admitted her love for him and confessed her fear of losing him. She'd kissed him voluntarily, she'd held his hand as if she could never possibly let go. But John had never dared broach the subject of the annulment because he feared her answer. He knew that the mere fact that she loved him didn't necessarily mean that she wished to remain married to him.  
  
After all, marriage was a serious commitment. It was a lifelong choice. It was an everlasting adventure. And it represented a kind of love that Ronnie might not be ready for.  
  
Sarina placed a gentle hand on John's back. "I think you know that even if you don't have her as your wife, you'll always have her love."  
  
John nodded and offered Sarina a very small smile of silent gratitude. But as she turned towards Roger, his fingers crept up his chest to rest over his heart as he stared at the door and waited.  
  
Yes, it was true he already had her love. But it was also true that annulments had the potential to destroy love.  
  
John grasped his fork with with his free hand, trying to still his trembling fingers. He couldn't imagine Ronnie returning her wedding ring to him. He couldn't fathom Ronnie shedding his last name, like a snake shedding it's unwanted skin.  
  
If she wanted an annulment, he'd respect her decision.  
  
He just didn't know how his heart would bear it.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this update is so late! It's very unlike me not to update for three weeks and I'll try not to let it happen again. Let's just say real life got exciting in the best possible (and most exhausting) way - I'll share when I can!
> 
> As a result, I've had to make my chapters shorter, so there are probably two chapters left, instead of one.


End file.
